


On Balance

by Fraulein_Else



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22096396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fraulein_Else/pseuds/Fraulein_Else
Summary: "Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards."If he wants it or not, Kylo Ren is the last of the Skywalkers - three generations that tried to make true on the promise of 'bringing balance to the Force', each in their own way.How Ben Solo became Kylo Ren, and how he will fulfil his legacy is the subject of this story.This story is based on Episodes VII-IX, but differs from the events and characters where I thought it necessary.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Kudos: 5





	1. Prologue

_Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards._

Søren Kierkegaard – _Journals_

* * *

_And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not._

John 1:5

Her head on his chest, Leia listened to Han softly breathing and tried not to wake him up by laughing out loud. Could he possibly be as joyous as she was in this moment? No, he couldn’t be! Because he didn’t know yet what she was suddenly certain of: _she was pregnant!_ No doubt about it! There was something she had never experienced before, a tender glowing in her tummy that hadn’t been there five minutes ago. She was going to have a child. A son. She didn’t know why she was so sure of this, but nothing could have persuaded her otherwise. _She was going to have a son!_

She suppressed a giggle. Han’s son. Wouldn’t he be a handful? She tried to picture him. His hair would be dark, and a little wavy, like his father’s, and he’d have the same slim, long hands. Would his eyes be blue, too? No, she thought, it was enough if he inherited Han’s chin, Han’s nose, Han’s lips. From her, he’d get the eyes, dark, ironic eyes. It wouldn’t hurt if he also inherited her sense of duty.

She couldn’t be pregnant for more than a few moments; Han and she hadn’t seen each other in seven long weeks, after all. Nevertheless she could feel her son already, which also told her that he would be strong with the Force. Like his –

 _Uncle_. And a bit like she.

Suddenly uneasy, she put her hand on her stomach and closed her eyes. Oh yes, there he was. Pure light. _He_ was pure light.

Her shoulders started relaxing once more, when she felt something else, something very different, as if a thin swirl of black clouds was suddenly coiling itself around the light. Squeezing it. Poking it. Trying to get in.

She gave herself a little shake. _Nonsense!_ These were just nerves. She’d heard of _nerves_. Apparently, some females had them. And now, on the brink of motherhood, she must have gotten herself some, too.

It would be alright. More than alright. It – _he!_ – was going to be wonderful!

x X x


	2. Chapter 2

**VII.**  
 **THE FORCE AWAKENS**

_To move toward destiny is like eternity. To know eternity is enlightenment, and not to recognize eternity brings disorder and evil._

Joseph Campbell – The Hero with a Thousand Faces

* * *

**1\. The End Is Nigh**

_Inhuman solitude made of sand and God. Surely only two kinds of people can bear to live in such desert: lunatics and prophets. The mind topples here not from fright but from sacred awe; sometimes it collapses downward, losing human stability, sometimes it springs upward, enters heaven, sees God face to face, touches the hem of His blazing garment without being burned, hears what He says, and taking this, slings it into men’s consciousness. Only in the desert do we see the birth of these fierce, indomitable souls who rise up in rebellion even against God himself and stand before Him fearlessly, their minds in resplendent consubstantiality with the skirts of the Lord. God sees them and is proud, because in them his breath has not vented its force; in them, God has not stooped to becoming a man._

Nikos Kazantzakis – Report to Greco: The Desert Sinai

* * *

 **1.1. Finally!:** aboard the _Finalizer_ , ABY 30/05/28, 21:08 GST

_Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing-glove._

P.G. Wodehouse – Very Good, Jeeves

“Planetfall in T minus 53 minutes, sir.“

Behind his mask, Kylo rolled his eyes. No matter how long he had been with the First Order, he could not accustom to their stilted ways. Take this simple line. It could have been three syllables shorter if the officer had cut out the T minus. Weren’t these guys all about terse effectiveness?!

53 more minutes seemed both an awfully long, and delightfully short time. In only 53 minutes – 52 by now – he would hold the map to Skywalker in his hands. Finally! For years, he had zigzagged all across the galaxy for this. By this time tomorrow, he might already have vanquished the last of the Jedi. The completion of his training and this part of his journey altogether. Once he had overcome Skywalker, the master _must_ show him the ultimate mysteries. Mustn’t he?

He read the information before him. His rotten uncle had used to describe his homeworld as ‘if there's a bright centre to the universe, Tatooine’s the planet that it's farthest from.’ But had he ever been to Jakku? Kylo marvelled at the data on the screen and wondered why people would live on a planet such as this. Temperatures of fifty degrees during the day, no vegetation, no bodies of water, and a rich fauna of lethal insect life to make it _really_ cosy. After all, Lor San Tekka had _chosen_ to live there. The last time they had met, the old man had had a nice little house with a garden on Lokori – why give that up, at his time of life, for a hut in hell?

50 more minutes! What was he supposed to _do_ with himself until then? The obvious answer was to meditate, of course, but sitting still or focusing his mind were completely out of the question, he was far too fired up. No one else knew – except, of course, the master – but Kylo Ren had more personal motives on his agenda than simply destroying his master’s only serious foe. He had dreamt of this moment for seven long years, he had prepared himself, trained, practised, straightened out his flaws and foibles, hardened his weaknesses. He was ready. He was going to have his revenge at last.

x X x

 **1.2. Embattled:** aboard a transport in the orbit of the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/28, 21:40 GST

_If wrong becomes right, resistance becomes a duty and obeying a crime._

Leo XIII., 1891

“Excited?” Peekay asked with a grin and clapped FN-2187’s shoulder.

The young Stormtrooper gave him a broad smile in return before putting on his helmet, more grateful than he cared to admit. This was going to be his first real battle. If you could call it that, because as the squad leader had explained, they didn’t expect any serious resistance, more of a blue milk run. Still, FN-2187 was a little nervous. To have one’s first real mission under the lead of Captain Phasma herself was enough to rattle the nerves of much more experienced soldiers, as a swift look around proved beyond doubt. They hadn’t even entered the target planet’s atmosphere, yet they all stood to attention as if expecting an inspection from her, which they were, in a manner of speaking. Indubitably, the head of the Stormtrooper program would analyse the videotape of the landing. Which made Peekay’s little remark so much more valuable, for the simple reason that it went against protocol. But Peekay wasn’t afraid of violating the protocol, or being monitored by Phasma; there was a streak of recklessness in him that their supervisors despaired over, but which also made him a model fighter when it came to actual combat. Famously among his peers, Peekay was a veteran of the Raid on Grenolaver, the Mazzana Attack and another six famous battles. Another thing to be thankful for – standing next in line to Peekay gave a rookie such as FN-2187 a feeling of invincibility by default.

Once the transporter had landed a little outside the village, it took no more than another eight minutes before the villagers had been overwhelmed and subdued; only two or three had actual weapons (not counting the number of sticks, brooms and one shovel), and none of them knew how to use either.

Privately, FN-2187 decided not to count this outing as his first battle because it certainly didn’t deserve that name (Peekay’s first battle had been during the Ravissian Uprising!). He immediately revised his opinion though when seeing Kylo Ren’s upsilon shuttle slowly hovering down. It made for a good entry in his file to have fought alongside Kylo Ren.

Out of nowhere, shots were suddenly fired and before FN-2187 had even got his bearings, Peekay was hit right next to him and went down and there was blood everywhere and more shots and Peekay reached out for him and the blood squirted all over FN-2187’s visor, he couldn’t quell the wound underneath the armour, he was blinded by blood and tried dragging Peekay to safety where he was ranted at by Captain Phasma, “Can’t you see he’s dead?! Go back to your station!” and still unable to see much through his visor, he still blindly obeyed and scrambled back, only to see Ren whipping out his infamous laser-sword and killing an old man with it, a shot flew right at Ren but stopped in midair _because Ren had stopped it in midair_ and then Ren ordered the villagers to be executed and _the damned blaster energy-bolt was still sizzling in midair_ and FN-2187 completely lost the plot. He stared at the deadly scared people, at the rifle in his hands; in theory he knew what he was supposed to do but in reality he hadn’t got an inkling, all he knew was that these people had done nothing wrong except being right here right now and that he couldn’t possibly kill them, he couldn’t, he couldn’t, he just _couldn’t_ –

It made no difference. His comrades fired, the villagers were mown down remorselessly. It was over in less than ten seconds.

But it wasn’t over for FN-2187. It wasn’t over when Captain Phasma herself told him to have his weapon checked for malfunction, which was just another, crueller way of saying that he was going to be punished for his failure. It wasn’t over when he felt a chill running down his spine and gazing around, found that Kylo Ren of all people was looking at him; in spite of the distance, in spite of the black mask, FN-2187 _knew_ that effing _Kylo Ren_ was observing him and that he knew that FN-2187 hadn’t had a weapon malfunction. It wasn’t over when that energy bolt exploded after all, driving home the point of impending, just slightly delayed disaster. It wasn’t over when FN-2187 stepped back into the transporter to be taxied back to the _Finalizer_ , sensing that all his comrades kept their distance as if fearing he was contagious.

Back on the _Finalizer_ , he almost threw up in his helmet and in the moment he yanked it off, Captain Phasma happened to stand right behind him, reprimanded him sharply and sent him to reprogramming.

x X x

 **1.3. I’ll Show You the Dark Side:** on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/28, 22:02 GST

_Desert sky, dream beneath the desert sky._   
_Desert rose, dreamed I saw a desert rose_   
_Dress torn in ribbons and bows_   
_Like a siren she calls (to me)._

U2 – In God’s Country

In the very moment he set his foot on the planet, he knew this was going to go very pear-shaped. In which way, he couldn’t yet say, nor did he have the faintest idea why he was so sure. There was a strange energy to this place, a bizarre yet somewhat familiar texture to the Force that was almost tangible – maybe he had underestimated old San Tekka?

He looked around, spotted the old man already apprehended by a couple of Stormtroopers, but the Force was in no way stronger around the hermit than elsewhere. It didn’t seem to emanate from anyone in particular, it was just _there_ , in the air, in the ground, in the tickling flames of the campfires among the modest huts, carrying associations of spinebarrel flowers and shellavas and duckelberries and sparkling water, the scent of lilies of the valley and cyclamen, the smell and heat of sunshine –

 _This_ is _a desert planet, you know._

Jakku, eh? Who would have figured that this forgotten sandpit was such a place of power? But at least this explained why San Tekka had come here to begin with. It seemed so unlikely a destination for a man who, in the past, had gone all in for sacred uneti trees throwing gentle shade over ornamental ponds.

_Yes, yes, that is all very well. Now will you get on with it!_

He gave himself a little shake and observantly approached his target. Apprehensive but not scared. More disturbed by the Stormtroopers rounding up the villagers than by facing Kylo Ren. Interesting.

From up close, San Tekka’s face was slightly at odds with his calm demeanour, weary, tired. It took Kylo a second or two to understand that those wrinkles had nothing whatsoever to do with this situation, but were a simple result of the fifteen years since he’d last seen him.

“Look how old you’ve become,” he attempted some small talk and knew he was failing even as he spoke.

But San Tekka threw the ball right back at him. “Something far worse has happened to you.”

Another thing Kylo hadn’t reckoned with was that the old man might recognise him, too, or if not recognise, at least know who he was. Together with that strange tingling in the Force (definitely the light side, he thought, and resolved not to let himself be distracted), it made him uncomfortable and he decided to cut right to the chase.

“You know what I’ve come for.”

“I know where you come _from_. Before you called yourself Kylo Ren.”

Inside, Kylo was squirming; he felt the ball of anger in his guts starting to spin and snarled, “The map to Skywalker. We know you found it. And now you’re going to give it to the First Order.”

“The First Order rose from the Dark side,” his opponent replied, even more stoic than before. “You did not.”

It was as if he had his hand over that infamous big red button of comic strip fame, the one with the plaque underneath ‘Do not touch under ANY circumstances!’.

“I’ll show you the Dark side!”

“You may try. But you cannot deny the truth that is your family.”

And he’d pushed it. Fury surged through Kylo’s veins, much faster than his ratio could keep up with. Whipping out his sword and igniting it were one. “You’re _so_ right!” he cried and cut the man down without thinking twice. It seemed the only way to make the old geezer shut up.

_You idiot! The old fool hadn’t given up the map yet!_

Dang it! Thankfully, there was no time to beat himself up about that just now. Through the Force he felt a blaster shot coming towards him (someone must have gotten his hands on a rifle after all; he’d have to have a word with Phasma about that later) from behind; he froze it as well as the shooter and turned around to see the poor idiot who mistook daredevilry for courage.

He turned out to be a raggedly handsome man, perhaps ten years older than Kylo, dressed very differently from the anchorite villagers. The way he held himself suggested soldier, the informal jacket pointed to Resistance rather than Republican, and as for his features – they seemed somewhat familiar though Kylo couldn’t place him. Had they met before? Was this guy somehow famous? Had they fought each other in the past, maybe? No, as the sloppy shot had proven, he couldn’t be infantry; again going by the jacket, Kylo pecked him as a pilot. Also, there were only a handful of people he had ever fought that were alive to be remembered, and this guy wasn’t one of ‘em.

Two Stormtroopers had grabbed him and pushed him to the ground. In order to see his face better, Kylo knelt down, looked him over and racked his brains. Nope. Nothing.

“So who talks first? You talk first? I talk first?”

Ah, a comedian. And then it dawned on Kylo. “The map – the old man gave it to you…”

Oh sweet relief! At least they wouldn’t have to dig up the whole damned desert for the bloody thing!

“It’s very hard to understand you with all the –”

Kylo got up. “Search him.”

“– apparatus,” the man finished lamely as he was patted down by two troopers.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Put him on board.”

It was perhaps noteworthy that nothing, not the strangely familiar stranger, nor Lor San Tekka’s death, had dented the surrounding Force field even a little. It was as robust, as palpable and unnerving as it had been when Kylo had arrived; it made him want to eat duckelberries and –

“Sir, the villagers.”

A village full of Church of Jedi acolytes? “Kill them all.”

He hurried back toward his shuttle, but he wasn’t quick enough. Damn Phasma, she lost no time! In a wink of an eye, the troopers had killed anyone still standing; the Force was troubled, but the overall feeling of sparkling water and musical clock chimes remained what it was.

But there was something else. Involuntarily, he turned his head, looking straight at a Stormtrooper with blood on his helmet. In this moment, he knew three things about that soldier: he was mortally scared, he was distressed to the point of physical sickness, and he had not fired a single shot. A second later, he also knew that this boy – he was no older than nineteen – had some trace of the Force in him, and made a mental note to look him up.

Could this kid be the source of that irregularity in the Force? No. This was just a coincidence.

 _There is no such thing as_ coincidence _as far as the Force is concerned!_

Yes, well. He’d look him up. Maybe he was worth training. It wasn’t important just now. The only thing that mattered was finally getting that damned map.

x X x

 _ **1.4. Awful:** __on the_ Supremacy _, ABY 30/01/20_

_Sometimes mortals can be more horrible than monsters._

Rick Riordan – The Titan’s Curse

FN-2187 was cleaning the floors in the tract housing the interrogation cells when apparently out of nowhere, Kylo Ren came striding in like an affliction. He was closely followed by General Hux who, by the look of things, found it not entirely easy to keep up.

In a panic, FN-2187 tried to check up on his work without being _too_ obvious about it. Had he overlooked some stain on the floor? Had he blown dry everything? He broke out in a cold sweat contemplating the possibilities of General Hux slipping due to an oversight of lowly cadet FN-2187.

But the two speedily proceeded past him without even a fleeting notice of FN-2187’s works. Kylo Ren vanished inside a cell; General Hux remained outside and quietly talked to the two troopers stationed at the door, but even though FN-2187 strained his ears to hear what they were saying, he was too far off.

For half a minute, he indulged in elaborate fantasies what cunning techniques Kylo Ren would employ in order to wheedle out the wanted information. Probably Ren’s sheer apparition (there was no better word for it) would intimidate the enemy enough to spill his guts.

Then the screaming started.

Of course, the prisoner had screamed before. Those seasoned interrogators knew their instruments. But _this_ was infinitely worse. These weren’t the screams of a body in pain, these were the desperate outpourings of a soul in agony. At least, it didn’t last long, twenty seconds perhaps. Then the door opened and revealed a hapless man in a New Republic uniform slouched on the board, his head lolling, a look of horror etched into his blood-drained face.

Kylo Ren stepped out and spoke in a flat, almost bored voice, “I told you before – don’t pump them with truth drugs before you call for me. They give away more when their brains aren’t clouded.”

General Hux made a dismissive gesture. “Well, usually they work.”

“This isn’t a usual military officer. The Resistance _train_ to withstand conventional interrogation techniques. Even the very lowly ones, like him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ he knows nothing of value. He joined not three months ago; you seized him at his very first outing. He has no idea where the Resistance headquarters are and knows less about their operations than you do.”

“Or maybe _you_ couldn’t penetrate his defences either,” General Hux said with a challenging look.

Ren’s posture conveyed nothing if not condescension. “Tell yourself that, Lieutenant Hux, if it helps.”

And off he went. Behind his visor, FN-2187’s mouth hung open. Once he and the two guards were alone in the corridor, he ventured, “What did he do?”

“I don’t know, and you don’t want to know either, cadet,” one of them replied.

“No… No, I really think I do.”

The other one shook his head slowly. “He can rummage through your brains as he pleases. He can see things not even _you_ know are there. They say it’s the Force.”

“The Force? I thought – I was taught it’s a Jedi thing, and that they use it to fight, and lift stuff…”

“Well, _he_ uses it to read minds. _And_ fight. And he is definitely no Jedi. Don’t you know they call him the Jedi Killer?”

“I thought that was, you know, an honorary nickname or something.”

“It’s a literal description. He killed every last one except Luke Skywalker himself. And he’s been on the hunt for that one ever since.”

x X x

 **1.5. Make a Friend:** in the desert on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/29, 17:51 GST

_Sometimes I suspect that we build our traps ourselves, then we back into them, pretending amazement the while. That is the way of life, from the All-Highest down to the meanest creature in creation... But whether this is the case or no, it is still a worthy thing to open cages. It is still a virtuous act to free the imprisoned._

Dream – Sandman

Every evening upon coming home, Rey did the same. Always in the same sequence. At first, she checked if her plant was still alive. Then she turned on the energy convector and made sure she had enough water. Next, she took her self-made stylo and scratched another line into the wall. One for each day, there were so many by now that she had long stopped counting them. A while ago, she had needed to use a second wall. But one did better not think about that too much.

Only then she went on to prepare her meal and here came the first possible variation. It all depended on Unkar Plutt’s mood of the day. If he had gorged himself on whatever secret supplies he might be hoarding, and gazumped some poor scavenger, she was quietly contented, too. If, like today, he was in a foul mood and the poor scavenger he’d short-changed was her, she grumbled wild oaths under her breath, cursing him for being an old miser and overall rotter. In seven languages. Soon to be eight, once she’d master the weird gaggling sounds of Aqualish.

When the food was ready, she took it outside to enjoy the second-best part of each day: watching the sun set over the Fallen Teeth (only watching its dawn over the Badlands was even better). During those short moments when the searing sun vanished or rose over the horizons, between the scorching heat of the day and the freezing cold of those desert nights, the barren plains really came to life. Insects frantically scuttled out of their hiding places to seize the precious time for whatever they needed to do, closely pursued by an entire food chain of increasingly large predators. Aurora ants were hunted by blood beetles were hunted by merzes were hunted by Black Viperas were hunted by Yellow-tail buzzards and other birds of prey. In the unlikely event that some of their mortal shells should be left over, there were countless other critters attending to those remains. As a rule of thumb, nothing ever ran to waste here.

Rey carefully timed her sparse meals to coincide with the evenings’ cruel spectacle. This was the closest to entertainment she had ever come to know. She wasn’t sentimental; she knew things – _life_ – couldn’t be any other way. Every figure in this theatre of death had its own part to play and was as crucial to the continuation of life itself as any other. Sooner or later, even the majestic buzzards were going to be gobbled up by the tenacious ants and thus contributed to their survival. Why, even the Fallen Teeth must have been a mighty range of mountains once. Now most of them had turned to sand.

She settled in the AT-AT’s shadow which afforded her a grand view of the Fallen Teeth as well as the sea of dunes leading there. In the distance, a small freighter was taking off almost vertically. Rey put on her pilot-helmet as a salute and watched its trajectory until it was no longer visible. Where might it be going?

She imagined the pilot: a sinister Ezaraa wanted dead or alive in 16 systems. Her co-pilot was from Corellia. His name was Giiza Seven Fingers and he thought he was the best shot in the galaxy, though he really wasn’t. They had come to Jakku to refuel before taking off for the Unknown Regions, because they were spice smugglers. What they didn’t know was that famous bounty hunter Frettor Pak was already hot on their tails…

Rey liked to invent stories like that. She had thousands and thousands of them, making them up as she went along. When she drove through the endless desert. When she climbed through a destroyer. When she waited in line before Unkar Plutt’s shop. And most of all, during those long dark hours when she couldn’t fall asleep.

She was just watching a dumdum beetle fighting off the superior forces of aurora ants and translated the battle into Giiza Seven Fingers facing a gang of rival smugglers when she heard a noise.

As a rule, noises in the desert were never a good sign. It meant there was something where usually there was nothing, and in these environments, _something_ rarely meant good news. She picked up her staff and went to have a look. On the other side of a small dune, she spotted Teedo Copperbottom (she gave them additional names in her head to tell them apart) astride his luggabeast dragging a small BB-unit in a net. The droid fought back gamely and made plaintive sounds.

In principle, Rey counted Teedo Copperbottom as a friend. No, that was not the right word… As a friendly acquaintance. Unlike Teedo Heatwave or Teedo Blastershot, Teedo Copperbottom was alright, they even shared food sometimes, when Rey was in a scrape, or when she had hunted down a shinpu. And if she had believed that Teedo Copperbottom was going to sell the droid to Unkar Plutt, she would have congratulated him on his lucky catch and gone back to mind her own business.

The issue was: Teedo Copperbottom only ever sold _parts_. He would dismantle the BB-unit, in other words: kill it. Rey greatly disapproved of unnecessary killing.

“T’allua mar par quar!” she cried sternly.

Not unreasonably, he told her to go to blazes.

“Par quar dar dunna!”

She ran down and started freeing the droid from the net, while Teedo Copperbottom spew a longwinded series of threats, complaints and entreaties at her. She didn’t mind, she might have done the same in his position. And she knew he wouldn’t attack her. Not because he wouldn’t dare (the braveness of the Teedo bordered on idiocy sometimes), but because of Rey’s _special talent_. She had a real knack for finding water in the desert. She was so good with it, she could afford sharing. Which she did with people she liked. Consequently, Teedo Copperbottom knew he should better stay in her good books.

Her patience had its limits though. “Nomaa!” she barked, which roughly meant ‘enough!’ in Basic, only that in Teedo it had very hostile conflagrations more in line with ‘one more word and I’ll use your skull as a cooking pot’.

Grumbling, Teedo Copperbottom kicked his luggabeast into motion and legged it. The droid beeped some very rude remarks after him and Rey instinctively shushed him. Only then she remembered that Teedo Copperbottom understood not a single language other than Teedo, not even a little Basic or Binary.

“That’s just Teedo,” she tried to explain to the bemused droid. “He wants you for parts.”

The droid expressed his disgust in no uncertain terms, making her even gladder for Teedo Copperbottom’s linguistic shortcomings.

“Don’t be offended. He has no respect for _anyone_.’

The struggle had twisted the droid’s antenna. Rey knelt down to right it. “Where do you come from?” she asked, wondering how a fully functioning BB-unit in prime condition ended up in the middle of the desert. Niima Outpost, the closest settlement, was twenty-four kilometres away, and she knew for a fact that nobody there owned a BB-unit.

The droid answered that it was very sorry, but it could not divulge classified information. Oh dear. The poor thing had overheated and was suffering from delusions of grandure!

“Classified, really? Me too. _Big_ secret,” she said to humour it and for a second, froze. She shouldn’t have said that. To cover up her inexplicable unease, she took much more care than necessary when reattaching the antenna. “Niima Outpost is that way. Stay off Calvin Ridge. Keep away from the Sinking Fields to the North, or you’ll drown in the sand.”

The droid replied that it was pleased to meet her and that its name was BB-8 (clearly its owner lacked any imagination at all). To her alarm, it started rolling after her.

“Don’t follow _me_. Town is that way.”

But he wanted to come with her.

“No!” she exclaimed so forcefully that she surprised herself. It was only a droid, after all.

But he was all alone!

Rey turned around. If it was possible for a metal globe to look forlorn, this BB-unit managed the trick. Also, she knew that over the next dune, Teedo Copperbottom or any of his fellows would just pick the droid up once more. She really ought to deliver it to Niima Outpost herself when she went back tomorrow morning.

She mimicked at the droid to come along, then, and his happy stream of thankful beeps made her smile.

“You’re welcome.”

x X x

 ** _1.6. Awesome:_ ** _on Starkiller Base, ABY 29/11/06_

_Out of his surname they have coined an epithet for a knave, and out of his Christian name a synonym for the Devil._

Thomas Babington Macaulay – On Machiavelli

FN-2187 was a model cadet, all his instructors and records agreed. He was a first-rate shot, excelled in hand-to-hand as well as melee combat and had passed every exam so far with flying colours, so his fellows had reacted with considerable consternation when the reward for all his achievements had been a new post in the janitorial unit, first on Starkiller Base, now on the _Supremacy_. When a Stormtrooper said that he’d give his right arm for a chance to serve on the _Supremacy_ , by ‘serving’, he usually didn’t mean toilet-scrubbing.

But FN-2187 did not mind. They never received plaques with their numbers on them, but the janitorial team was as essential a cog in the army machine as any other, more glorified unit. Also – who else but they had the practically free run of even the most restricted areas? FN-2187 had cleaned the elevator booth to the Supreme Leader’s personal quarters! On a ship with a crew of more than a hundred thousand, only twelve people had the level of clearance to go in there – and he was one of them!

Most importantly, only very experienced soldiers got stationed on the _Supremacy_ ; in his unit, he was the most junior by a long shot. Which meant that he was able to learn _a lot_ from people who really knew their stuff. After his shifts with the mop, he was able to put in endless hours training with some of the best soldiers in the entire First Order and got the chance to attend numerous lectures intended for aspiring officers.

Tonight, he had practised sharp-shooting with two true masters, PK-0816 and Lieutenant-Major Dortabine; the latter had actually recommended him and invited him to join them for a glass of sucosa in the mess. Frankly, FN-2187 felt like a million credits, walking down the corridors next to PK-0816 with the swag of a man expecting everyone passing them to know what a legend the guy beside him was.

“You’re good, kid, but you’ve still got work to do on your reaction time,” PK-0816 said good-naturedly. “You’ve got to get to the point where you no longer _think_.”

“He’s right, you know? Shaves 0.5 seconds of your results,” Dortabine chipped in and clapped FN-2187 on the breastplate.

He really ought to look at his reaction time, because it took FN-2187 another moment to understand that Dortabine was actually trying to hold him back.

“Turn right,” she snarled under her breath and FN-2187 was so accustomed to obeying anybody with a black stripe on their forearm that he did just that, with the same kind of thoughtless automatism they had just been talking about. His eyes though were drawn back further down the corridor into which they had been heading.

There stood a small group of high-ranking officers and a tall figure dressed all in black.

“Was that –” PK-0816 asked, a little breathless.

“Oh yes.”

FN-2187 gazed at them cluelessly. He couldn’t see PK-0816’s face under the visor, but he wondered if he was as pale as Dortabine’s usually florid complexion had turned.

“That was Kylo Ren, wasn’t it?”

The other two nodded.

FN-2187 was on the verge of turning around to see if he could catch another glimpse, but once more Dortabine held him back.

“Another pro tip for you, kid – don’t run into Kylo Ren.”

“Don’t be in the same room like Kylo Ren.”

“If at all possible, try not to be on the same _ship_ as Kylo Ren.”

“Best he doesn’t know you exist, really.”

“But he’s the greatest warrior we have!” FN-2187 managed to insert.

“Undoubtedly. He’s also the scariest man you’ll ever meet.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He isn’t exactly patient.”

“Neither is Captain Phasma –”

“But Captain Phasma doesn’t whip out a laser-sword and goes on a rampage when she is displeased.”

PK-0816 nodded. “It’s the Force –”

“The Force!” FN-2187 exclaimed, perfectly delighted.

PK-0816 shrugged. “Half of the stories about him are made up, if you ask me, but it doesn’t follow he wasn’t the mightiest fighter I ever saw.”

“You’ve seen him in battle, then?” Dortabine asked curiously.

If he knew it or not, PK-0816 stood a little straighter. “My squad was under his command when we took Grenolaver. He blew out their defences in his TIE-silencer single-handedly and made short work of the remains with his sword. I’ve never seen anything like it. He used the Force to rip their rifles from their hands. He stopped blaster shots in midair. It’s incredible, but – spooky. _Really_ spooky.”

x X x

 **1.7. Where Is It?:** aboard the _Finalizer_ , ABY 30/05/29, 22:24 GST

_I’m smarter than you, and I’m going to find out what I want to know, and I’m going to get it from you whether you like it or not._

Dave Kujan – The Usual Suspects

The only information the captive had volunteered were his name and rank: Commander Poe Dameron of the Rapier Squadron. As for any other information, he had stubbornly resisted both torture and truth drugs, until the unnerved officer in charge had called for Kylo Ren in spite of himself and his superiors’ wishes. The Intelligence arm of the First Order did not cherish that Ren succeeded where they failed.

The man came, as arrogant and sure of himself as ever, and if one could look down one’s nose through a visor, Lieutenant Dray was certain Ren was doing it right now while browsing through Dameron’s vita from the archives.

“The guy is a living legend,” he said lightly. “And he’s only 35.”

“He’ll soon be a dead legend,” Dray retorted.

“Ah, yes. What a pity.”

“Sir?”

“I think you will find that none of _your_ men can hold a candle to his skills as a pilot, Lieutenant. He may well be the best pilot of his generation. Doesn’t that make you think?”

Dray refrained from saying out loud that this would include Kylo Ren as well, but his face must have given him away, because Ren started chuckling. It was a disquieting sound made even more unnerving through the voice changer.

“Perhaps I am not the best flyer of my generation, Lieutenant. But as an interrogator, I beat your lot every time.”

Thus he entered the interrogation cell and surveyed the prisoner, who had taken an awful beating and was unconscious.

Poe Dameron. That’s why he had thought he’d recognised the guy. Half a lifetime ago, the man’s mother had been Leia Organa’s personal pilot. Kylo had been rather fond of Shara Bey, enough to almost regret having to hurt her son.

_But that son decided to become a traitor._

Yeah, well. If there had been any doubt about _that_ left, it vanished when the man woke up only to put on the most defiant scowl available to a bleeding man tied down to an interrogation board.

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board,” Kylo said and meant it, but Dameron, understandably, wasn’t in the mood to chat. “Comfortable?”

“Not really.”

Which was, no irony intended, a pity. What Kylo was about to do worked so much easier if the subject was relaxed. If they were calm and didn’t try fighting it, it needn’t even be hurtful. So he tried to distract the pilot once more (and to be honest, the answer to this question actually interested him).

“I was wondering – how’s your mother?”

He needn’t hear the answer. The prisoner’s jaw clenched; a dark wave of grief, anger and – surprisingly – _guilt_ emanated from him as he tried to spit at his captor. So Shara Bey was dead? And somehow, her son felt responsible.

For some reason, Kylo had to think of last night’s encounter (if one could call it that) with the traumatised Stormtrooper. Knowing Captain Phasma’s drill, that poor kid was probably heading for re-programming just now, if not worse. Kylo had always felt an instinctive dislike for the concept. _Re-programming!_ The term itself was already an affront, as if they were nothing but droids, machines, computers.

He brushed off both the notion and the recollection and turned back to the prisoner. “I’m impressed. No one has been able to get out of you what you did with the map.”

“You might want to rethink your technique.”

That pretty much summed up why Kylo was here, after all. He reached out and fixed Dameron’s mind. “Where is it?”

But the guy didn’t give up yet. “The Resistance will not be intimidated by you,” he managed to gnarl through clenched teeth.

Oh, for heaven’s sake! “Where. Is. It?” Kylo repeated, exasperated, and waded through Dameron’s mind, vaguely intrigued how much of a fight the other man put up. But he got there eventually. Of course he did.

“It’s in a droid. A BB-unit,” he informed General Hux, who was waiting already in the corridor and, as always when the two of them had any dealings together, was looking as if he had just bitten into a particularly sour shellava.

“Well, then. If it’s on Jakku, we’ll soon have it.”

“I leave that to you,” he replied and strode away, pretending he didn’t hear Hux’s next question.

“Anything else?”

x X x

 **1.8. The Best Pilot of His Generation:** aboard the _Finalizer_ , ABY 30/05/30, 00:46 GST

_A person needs a little madness, or else they never dare cut the rope and be free._

Nikos Kazantzakis

A mosaic like a fractured mirror in his head. One shard showing Leia making him a commander. Another part of a map of the Illerian system. One reflecting a detail of an A-wing model 6, one showing Admiral Akbar, one the situation room on D’Qar. BB-8, Lor San Tekka, Snap and Phun Woo, Larma and Vabrayse, his mother, the way she had looked shortly before –

He wished Ren had killed him.

Not because of the agonising pain that subsided only very slowly, not because they were going to kill him anyway and that way, it would at least have been quick.

Ren had forced him to give up what he would gladly have died for. Now he knew of BB-8, their desperate search for Luke Skywalker, the location of the Resistance headquarters, all other bases, their exact numbers and armament, Leia’s contacts in the Senate and who could say what else. It was all over just because Poe had failed!

The door to his cell slid open and he heard the words, “Ren wants the prisoner.”

What else could Ren possibly want from him now? Poe didn’t think he had any secret left, but he had no time to mull over the question as his shackles were opened and a Stormtrooper, gun in hand, dragged him up and away.

Maybe, Poe mused, he could at least go out in glory. Maybe he could get hold of a blaster and take Ren out, maybe… He was taken along one corridor after the other, the gun still pressing against his side, and only slowly he realised what had struck him as odd from the start. This was only one guy. All the others always moved in twos. What –

“Why aren’t you more nervous?” the Stormtrooper interrupted his musings in a low voice, made even quieter by the voice changer. “You know who Kylo Ren is, right?”

The Resistance was _not_ going to be intimidated! Poe snarled contemptuously, “Tall, weird black costume, thinks he’s the smartest thing that’s ever hit a planet?”

“Uh –”

“Yeah, met him.”

“You know who he _is?!_ ”

“The Jedi Killer, I guess they call him. _Not_ the kind of nickname _I’d_ strive for, personally.”

“Are you – some kind of – lunatic…?”

Poe chuckled, delighted to be allowed some showing off before the heroic sacrifice he’d hopefully make once he was alone with Ren. “Your scare tactics don’t work on me, or any other member of the Resistance. I am not afraid of your famous bogeyman.”

“In here,” his captor said and shoved him into a small niche. “Listen carefully. If you do exactly as I say, I can get you out of here.”

“What?”

The trooper took off his helmet and turned out to be a very young man covered in sweat and with eyes radiating sheer terror barely held at bay.

“This is a rescue,” he said, unbelievably. “I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE-fighter?”

Poe could only stare. “ _You’re_ with the Resistance?!”

“No! I’m breaking you out! Can you fly a TIE-fighter?”

At least Poe had an answer for this one. “I can fly _anything_.”

The young man laughed, sounding mightily relieved and looking the part. All the same, Poe hadn’t stayed alive until now by being in any way credulous. “Why? Why are you helping me?”

“Because,” the Stormtrooper said, suddenly solemn, “it is the right thing to do.”

Bollocks!

“You need a pilot.”

Again, that look of blessed relief, like a teacher delighted that his slow-witted student had finally found the right answer.

“I need a pilot. I need to get away from here as quick and as far as possible!”

Maybe it wasn’t all lost just yet. Maybe he was given a chance to make good for his involuntary betrayal! Poe grinned. “We’re gonna do this!”

“Yeah,” the Stormtrooper replied, but he was back to terrified, and made this sound less like confirmation and more like an entreaty.

They went on like before, with the trooper’s rifle pressed against Poe’s ribcage, but now that he knew the truth, he wondered how soon someone else would see through this ridiculous charade. No matter. It was better to die fighting than to lose without fighting back at all.

But nobody caught on and they actually made it right into the hangar. It was bustling with soldiers and officers and mechanics and once more, Poe was rather impressed. The First Order’s equipment was state-of-the-art, so much so that, should he ever come out of this alive, Poe would like some serious question time with a couple of weapon manufacturers whose merchandise he clearly recognised. It was very superior to the slapdash confection of whatever was available that the Resistance had to make do with.

“Okay. Stay calm. Stay calm,” his captor-turned-rescuer muttered.

“I _am_ calm.”

“I’m talking to myself.”

Oh shoot!

Still, by some miracle they managed to get into a TIE-fighter, and by now, Poe felt he was on the verge of a dangerously hyper delirium. “I always wanted to fly one of these things,” he confessed, breathless. “Can you shoot?”

“Blasters I can.”

“Okay, same principle.” He followed this up with the most basic instruction walkthrough he could come up with.

“This is very complicated,” the trooper replied all the same.

And yet, it would have to do. And it _did_. Despite some difficulties, they made it out of the hangar. They even managed to take down most of the star destroyer’s canons. There truly wasn’t a ship or fighter that Poe couldn’t fly. And that kid was an excellent shot, even better if one considered this was his first time.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

Almost cockily, he evaded a blast that would have hit nineteen pilots out of twenty.

“FN-2187.”

“F – what?”

“That’s the only name they ever gave me.”

The poor guy! One so easily forgot that the First Order recruited its army by stealing small children. “Well, I ain’t using it. FN, huh? Finn, I’m gonna call you Finn, is that alright?”

“Finn,” the kid cried, “yeah, _Finn!_ I kinda like that!”

Poe had to smile. “I’m Poe, Poe Dameron.”

“Good to meet you, Poe!”

“Good to meet you, too, Finn. Nice shot!”

“Thanks! Where – where are we going?”

“Back to Jakku.”

“No, no, no! We can’t go back to Jakku! We need to get out of this system!”

Poe swerved around to get them in line for the next shot. They’d have to take out all of those pesky ventral canons before they could truly get away.

“I’ve got to get my droid before the First Order does –”

“A droid?!” shouted the kid, evidently shocked. “We’ve got to get as far away from the First Order as we can! We go back to Jakku, we die!”

Oh, what the heck. He had, however unwillingly, given his secret away to Kylo Ren of all people. There was no reason not to trust this deserter who was putting his life on the line.

“That droid has a map that leads straight to Luke Skywalker.”

“You gotta be kidding me!”

By then, their opponent had warmed up the ventral canons, and once more, they seemed to be so very, very lucky, until they were no longer, and soared down to crash in the endless deserts of Jakku.

x X x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story so far, I'd be ever so grateful for a review.


	3. Chapter 3

**2\. Father Figures**

_No one does anything from a single motive._

Samuel Taylor Coleridge – _Biographia Literaria_

* * *

 **2.1. BREAKING NEWS: NEW RUMOURS, BECHTAAR FALLEN** (HoloVid Transmission, ABY 30/05/30, 01:00 GST)

_And the battle’s just begun_   
_There’s many lost, but tell me who has won?_   
_The trenches dug within our hearts_   
_And mothers, children, brothers, sisters_   
_Torn apart._   
_And it’s true we are immune_   
_When fact is fiction and TV reality._   
_And today the millions cry_   
_We eat and drink while tomorrow they die._

U2 – Sunday, Bloody Sunday

“In a head-turning communication last night, the Senate publicly admitted for the first time, that the shadow organisation called the ‘First Order’ has conquered Bechtaar, the galaxy’s third largest ship-manufacturing world. As late as yesterday morning, the speaker still denied even the possibility of former Empire troops having recovered enough strength to dare coming out of the Unknown Regions, let alone be the ones responsible for the unending string of raids and bombing that increased in number, intensity and viciousness over the last ten months.

The speaker announced their plan to call an investigation into life and asked for calmness. ‘This is not a time for panic,’ First Senator Krebbich Sandos is quoted. ‘These people are simple terrorists, no matter what emblems they paint on their flags, and we will deal with them like we have dealt with all other criminals before them.’

The leader of the opposition, Senator Eprac Meid from the planet Gravlex-Med criticised the leadership for their passivity so far. In their own communique, the opposition accused Sandos of ‘wilfully closing his eyes to the truth’ after the recent months must have made it clear for anyone not blind, or stupid, what has crept back from the shadows. ‘This isn’t a question of crime but of war,’ Senator Meid said, ‘or, if you will, of war crimes, active war crimes and those of omission. The blood of Bechtaar is on your hands, First Senator, the blood of Dulathia, the blood of Walentta, the blood of Churruma and Grenolaver and Hays Minor and any other world attacked by the foe you were too terrified of to even acknowledge!’

Meid has been widely criticised for this stance and been called a ‘war-monger’. It was also imputed that he and his allies are only playing up the situation as a manner of protest for the recent exclusion of former Senator Organa. It is notable that Senator Organa was the first to point out the possible danger and also the first drawing the conclusion that the ‘First Order’ could be the Galactic Empire’s successor organisation. This opinion was what ultimately led to her expulsion, an opinion which now seems all but vindicated.

Into this uncertain situation, we were just alerted of another possible First Order attack on the Outer Rim planet of Jakku two days ago, when sixty-eight people were killed. Some commentators have pointed out, however, that Jakku is of neither strategic nor economic value to anybody, and that the so-called incursion pertains to only one village. Sources close to the Resistance insist the attack was carried out by First Order troops, but there has been no official confirmation.

We’re going to keep you up to date but for now – back to the studio..

Back to Talulah in the studio.”

x X x

 **2.2. The Blame Game:** aboard the _Finalizer_ , ABY 30/05/30, 01:53 GST

_If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us._

Hermann Hesse – Demian

Even before all systems went into alert, Kylo was sure something had happened and hurried up to the bridge.

“General Hux, is it the Resistance pilot?” he asked, for once using the silly man’s proper rank. Usually he made a point of getting it wrong to rile Hux up, but this wasn’t the right moment for further antagonising. If Dameron managed to flee, he might find his droid before the First Order did – in other words: the map to Luke Skywalker that Kylo had believed to be already holding in his hands, might be lost.

It must not be so.

“Yes. And he had help from one of our own. We’re checking the registers now to identify which Stormtrooper it was.”

“The one from the village. FN-2187,” Kylo muttered, not noticing he was saying it out loud. Darn it! He had sensed the young man’s proximity to the Force so clearly, he had looked him up as soon as he’d been back on the _Finalizer_. He could have prevented all this! If only – if only –

“How would you know?” Hux asked mistrustfully.

Kylo turned around as haughtily as he could. “When will you ever learn, Hux? I just _know_.”

Privately though, he cursed himself. In his eagerness to get that map, he had made one mistake after the other. First, he had killed Lor San Tekka rather than subject the old man to a thorough interrogation. Then he had allowed Hux’s men to question Dameron first, with their ludicrous drugs, and it had taken ages until he was fit enough again to be interviewed by Kylo himself. But maybe the worst oversight was not reporting that Stormtrooper when there was still time.

_Because you pitied him!_

No, that wasn’t it. Not _pity_. A certain kinship, perhaps, to another Force-sensitive person who found it hard to make his first kill. Killing wasn’t easy as people pretended, especially the first time.

_That is the very textbook definition of compassion._

Yeah, well, maybe. But how was he supposed to have foreseen _this_?! Only because someone had a little bit of the Force in him and didn’t feel immediately inclined to execute civilians, it didn’t necessarily follow his next step would be springing an enemy from jail!

Around him, the officers ramped up their activities yet another notch. Without even trying, Kylo was almost swamped by their feverish excitement; some were angry or outraged, a few genuinely shocked. The vast majority though was thrilled, either with schadenfreude to see Captain Phasma fail (like Hux, she was unbearably smug), or with simple bloodlust. Still, Kylo stayed were he was, smitten to hear first-hand what was going on.

Eventually, he learnt that the two fugitives had been shot down and crash-landed on Jakku. Damn Jakku! Knowing his luck, Dameron might very well survive, and what would he do next? Recover his droid, of course! Heaven knew when Kylo’d ever get another chance then of finding Skywalker!

“I want that droid!” Hux screamed into his comlink. Kylo exhaled. At least the idiot had his priorities right. “I don’t give a _damn_ how! Carpet-bomb the area for all I care!”

Kylo had shut down the comlink with a wave of his hand. “Do _not_ damage the droid!”

“Mind your own business, Ren!”

“I do. I _need_ that droid.” Realising what he’d just said, he added with deliberate coolness, “The Supreme Leader wants the map.”

“I _know_ the orders, Ren. Capture the droid if we can, but destroy it if we must.”

“That is not what he told _me_.”

“You’re no soldier, Ren, you haven’t got a clue –”

“Talking of it! How capable _are_ your soldiers, General?”

“I won’t have you question my methods!”

“They’re obviously skilled at committing high treason. Perhaps Supreme Leader Snoke should consider using a clone army after all.”

Hux’s sallow cheeks turned an ugly crimson. “My men are exceptionally trained! Programmed from birth!”

Ah, yes. It was so easy to talk Hux into a corner, it was almost embarrassing.

“Then they should have no problem at all retrieving the droid unharmed, without destroying the area whole-sale.”

But Hux didn’t give up easily. “Careful, Ren, that your personal interest not interfere with orders from Leader Snoke,” he huffed, and took great care to make Kylo understand what he was hinting at.

“I. Want. That. Map,” Kylo replied dangerously and stepped closer. He knew how uncomfortable this made Hux, all the more because he was taller than the general. “For _your_ sake, I suggest you get it.”

x X x

 **2.3. Thirst for Life:** in the desert on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 03:17 GST

_He had discharged his destiny; now, perhaps, he could begin to live._

Arthur C. Clarke – The City and the Stars

Jakku! Damn Jakku!

Removing the last piece of his armour and using it as a visor, he blinked into the sun, trying to gauge his approximate position. It didn’t bear contemplating if he was walking in circles after all.

For approximately two hours, FN-2187 – no! _Finn!_ He was going to be Finn from now on! For two hours or something like that, Finn had made his way through the desert by now, and he could have sworn that he was exactly where he had started. There was nothing but dunes here, sand and dunes, dunes made of sand. They all looked alike and he couldn’t spot even the vaguest point of orientation anywhere.

The only piece of his armour that might have come in handy in this godforsaken place would have been his helmet. It would have provided him with a timekeeper, a compass, maps, prevented him from getting a heatstroke and kept that blowing sand out of his eyes. Alas, it had perished with the TIE.

He swallowed, even though he had scarcely any saliva left. That poor pilot! Finn had tried to get him out, he really had. But the only thing he had got hold off was the guy’s jacket. He was going to honour the man and bury the jacket in his stead, once he got out of here. _If_ he ever got out, that was.

At first, he had still taken care to bury the discarded pieces of his armour in the sand. Otherwise, the inevitable patrol sent after him would have had it too easy, just following his traces like a deadly game of hare and hound. But by now, he was too exhausted for that. How much longer would he last here, like this?

Calm down, he told himself. The human body can go on without water for three days.

But did that apply in a desert, too?

What had he been _thinking!_ Facing a firing squad, or the executioner, would have been far better than perishing like this! At least it would have been quick! Maybe he should just sit down and wait for them to find him. And they would. They wouldn’t rest before they’d got him, and punished him. Captain Phasma herself would see to that.

But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? It _was_ better to waste away alone in the desert than die in captivity. He was free, for the first time in his life _free_. That alone was worth it.

Scaling yet another dune (the fiftieth, in fact; he had counted), he thought he could make out a dark shape on the far horizon, a very flat trapezial shape of a reddish brown, possibly the crest of a mesa. At last! Something he could reliably head towards! And if he didn’t find anybody on the way, he could climb up, and take a look around from a great height, and maybe that would show him some settlement, or oasis. Oases were a real thing, weren’t they? Or were they just those figments of imagination that wanderers dying of thirst saw flittering in the heat?

No, he decided, those were called fata morganas.

Maybe that crest was just a fata morgana, too…?

Once more, he felt overwhelmed by despair and fell to his knees. The puce trapezium was still there though. And he realised it was better to die following a dream than not moving at all.

x X x

 **2.4. Garbage:** _in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 29/08/16_

_Lovers of air travel find it exhilarating to hang poised between the illusion of immortality and the fact of death._

Alexander Chase – Perspectives

Jakku was known in some circles as the ‘biggest junkyard west of Corellia’ and today it once more paid homage to that epithet. Approaching Niima Outpost on her speeder, Rey spotted from afar a huge heap of what could only be called scrap metal. Getting closer, she realised it was a ship, though her trained eye let her wonder how it had even managed the journey here. That thing couldn’t possibly be spaceworthy.

When she wanted to trade her day’s meagre findings, she found the exchange closed and because she was really hungry, she went around to Unkar Plutt’s office.

“– think I’m daft, Snapper, do you? Where’d you _really_ get it?” she heard the old scrapdealer’s voice.

“Nicked it from the Irving Boys,” another voice answered petulantly.

“The Irving Boys! That useless band of suckers! And where did _they_ get it?

“Nicked it from Ducain, we think.”

“Ducain? That wily trickster from Dantooine?”

“That the feller.”

Rey didn’t like to eavesdrop and knocked on the door.

“Go away!”

She opened the door regardless and by habit evaded the spanner thrown at her with which Plutt greeted anyone entering his office unbidden. He was slouching behind his desk; on the other side sat one human man with an awful squint and a Twi’lek with half a lekku missing. She raised the coil of Rhodium cable which she had brought.

“Get out, fry, I’m busy!”

“One and a half portions?” she asked nevertheless. She knew it was worth a quarter at most, but she also knew Plutt well enough to remember that one always had to start high.

“One and a half portions!” he scoffed. “How much is it?”

“Twenty-nine metres.”

Plutt grunted. “Half a portion.”

“Don’t let him fool you, child,” the Twi’lek cried. “Fifty yards of Rhodium cable go for eight credits over on Rakata Prime.”

“How many portions are that?” Rey asked back. Jakku had an economy based entirely on food rations and booze.

“Shut it, all of ye, and ye in particular, Huau!”

“You shut it, Unkar Plutt,” the Twi’lek barked. “I knew you tricked us with the price for the –”

“Shut it!”

“– and this proves it!”

“Did you actually buy that piece of garbage outside?” Rey asked, astonished. This entire conversation wasn’t going the way she had expected.

“Oy, kid! Is that how you thank us for putting in a good word for you?!”

“What do you need a ship for?” Rey went on, unfazed.

Plutt grinned broadly. “Hear her, boys? It’s a piece of garbage and I have absolutely no need for it. Me’s doing ye a _favour_ taking it off yer hands.”

“Favour! Well, if that’s how you see it, we’re off.”

“Yeah, get off, Snapper, I’ve had enough of yer stupid mugs. Ye know as well as I do that ye couldn’t sell it anywhere else, because no one ever comes to Jakku, and also ye’ve sold it ter me already and got yer money, so that’s that.”

“It’ll fall apart as soon as starting,” Rey went on. She couldn’t help herself. Unkar Plutt was an old fogey, but she’d be sorry to see him die all the same.

His grin became even wider. “And that’s where _ye_ come in, my fry. Ye’ll fix it with me.”

Rey narrowed her eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

A ration a day, that’s what was in it for her. The two thieves jeered and left, and on the next day, Plutt and she set out to work. The freighter – a Corellian YT-1300f – was in horribly bad shape, so much was obvious from the start. Rey had spent the last ten years dismembering ships, not building them back together, but Plutt had a good idea what needed to be done as well as how to do it and she, too, soon discovered in herself a certain skill. It was almost – fun. At least some bits. Others were very frustrating indeed, and spending so much time with Plutt in such close quarters made her nasal passages shut down, perhaps forever.

“Ye know, fry, ye really ought not to be so damned stubborn. Come back to Niima Outpost. In the desert, all on yer own – that’s no way of living.”

“I like it.”

“But there’s no future in scavenging. People have gone over those ships for twenty-five years, there’s not much else to find.”

“I found two perfectly fine sapor plugs only last week. You said yourself, they don’t build them like that anymore.”

“No, they don’t, which is just another way of saying they’re not building ships any longer needing them plugs either. Even if they did, a whole box of plugs goes for five credits. Do ye have any idea what two of them are worth?”

“A quarter portion,” she retorted pertly. Probably more. Unkar Plutt was a cheapskate, after all.

He rolled his eyes. “The future,” he said bumptiously, “is in _repairs_ , fry. And ye and me both know ye’ve got a knack for fixing stuff.”

“But I don’t need to live here for that. I’m fine where I am.”

“All by yerself?”

“Yes. All by myself. It’s a lot safer, too.”

“Safer!” he snorted. “And what if, one day, ye’re bitten by a Black Vipera?”

“I won’t be.”

“Ye wouldn’t be the first!”

“They don’t attack humans, or any other species as big. They only attack in order to feed, or because they’re in danger. So, as long as I watch where I’m going, I need not worry.”

He groaned and went back to his work.

“What are you doing?” she cried when she saw him welding a sheet of solid Thorilide to the compensator. “That’s putting far too much stress on the compressor!”

“Will ye look at yer. A week ago, ye didn’t even know what an FDG was, and suddenly ye’re an expert?”

This really was unfair. She’d known exactly what an FDG was, she only hadn’t fathomed they also came so small. She was used to star destroyer size.

“But –”

“This is _my_ ship and I’ll bloody well do what I like with it. Get that?”

It was a good job with one ration a day; but seeing Plutt ruin the ship proved to be not only hard but impossible. This freighter was a bit of a disaster alright, but making it worse?! And then selling it to some unsuspecting fool who had no way of knowing they had bought their own death, just before the hyperdrive blew up in their faces? She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t.

She put the oil can she was holding down and wiped her hands. “That’s it, I’m out.”

“What?”

“I won’t stand by and help you con some poor souls into buying their own doom.”

“What the hell are ye talkin’ about?”

She told him in great, unflattering detail what she was talking about. They had a huge row and Rey went back to the desert in a huff, swearing she’d never talk to him again and already knowing that her good resolutions were in vain. Plutt had a monopoly on the scavenging business, so if she wanted to eat ever again, she’d see him again soon enough.

Oh, she could hardly wait for her parents to come back and get her, then she’d tell the old blob what she _really_ thought of him! In Basic!

x X x

 **2.5. An Offer She Can’t Decline:** in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:35 GST

_People are more inclined to believe in bad intentions than in good ones._

Giovanni Boccaccio – The Decameron

Unkar Plutt had offered her a little job, fixing a number of compressor parts so he could sell them for a higher price. And while she despised the old ogre with a passion, she liked doing the odd job here and there for him. She was good with repairing things. It was far more gratifying than her usual routine of wandering through crashed star destroyers on the (too often futile) look-out for some potential item that no one else had found before her in the last twenty-five years. And a steady provision of food wasn’t to be sneezed at either.

This was the reason why shortly after dawn, Rey had strapped BB-8 to the side of her glider and travelled to Niima Outpost. Unkar Plutt, that lazy slug, didn’t care to get up early, so he had left some boxes with broken parts for her in the shack behind his office. When he did pull up the blinders to his counter, she had mended three pieces and went over (he had a tendency to be more generous straight after breakfast).

He inspected each part with a magnifying lens and finally grunted, “Half a portion.”

“What? Last time, you gave me half a portion for each!”

“Yeah, because I’d received an order for twenty forged cranks. This stuff is on spec.”

“What’s that got to do with me? I’ve worked hard on these.”

“And I offer ye half a portion for them. Take it or don’t, I don’t care.”

She told him what she thought of him in Correlisi and Aargauese, but he just gave her a blank stare.

“I take it,” she muttered at last and tapped on the side of BB-8’s head to indicate he turn. It wasn’t safe for him to go anywhere without her among all these professional scavengers.

He beeped his understanding and they made their way back to the workbenches, but they hadn’t gotten further than five metres when Plutt called, “Oi! How much for the droid?”

It was time to pay back that bored, blank stare. “Forget about it. You’ll just dismantle him for parts.”

“Are ye crazy? I won’t. I’ll give ye twenty portions for it.”

“Ph!”

“Fifty!”

“Two hundred.”

“Are ye out of yer head, fry? Fifty-five.”

“A hundred _at least_.”

“Sixty, and that’s my last word.”

He heaped more food on the counter than she’d ever seen in her whole life. Her eyes got wider with every stack he added. So much food! She’d never be hungry again… Only then, she noticed BB-8’s agitated beeps. There was a note to his protests that struck a very wrong chord in her mind.

“Actually…” she said quietly, summoning all the spine she possessed. “Actually, the droid’s not for sale.”

“Sixty-five! Merciful Atoona be my witness, seventy!”

“No.”

She turned around once more and walked back, with Plutt shouting increasingly higher numbers at her. Ironically, the more he offered, the more her resolution hardened. She wouldn’t sell the poor thing, she’d help him find its owner and go back home. That was the right thing to do. The proper, the decent thing. She wasn’t like Plutt, she’d prove him!

x X x

 **2.6. Damage Control:** in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:39 GST

_It began as most thing begin. Not on a dark and stormy night. Not foreshadowed by ominous here comes the villain music, dire warning at the bottom of a teacup, or dread portents in the sky. It began small and innocuously, as most catastrophes do. A butterfly flaps its wings somewhere and the wind changes, and a warm front hits a cold front off the coast of western Africa and before you know it you’ve got an hurricane closing in. By the time anyone figured out the storm was coming, it was too late to do anything but batten down the hatches and exercise damage control._

Karen Marie Moning – Darkfever

It had to go. And fast. Bleenea the Plentiful knew where the silly scrod had picked that thing up, or why she had suddenly taken it into her head to adopt it. But he’d soon put a stop to that.

“I want that droid. _Now._ ”

“Aye aye, boss,” Slypher grunted and elbowed Deenomon into motion.

“Try not to –”

But the door had already slammed shut. Ah, bah. The kid was able to look after herself. No sweat.

He dragged himself to the back-room and cranked up the radio. There was a horrific backcoupling noise until the line was clear, except for the usual static crackling of course. “Golo? This is Plutt. PLUTT! Yes, may the All-Powerful Gangar be with ye too. How’s the fry? Now listen. First Order still searching for that BB-unit? Yeah? Well, then ye better get in touch with them and tell them I’ve got it.”

Golo expressed his disbelief very impolitely.

“Never ye mind _how_ I got it, suffice to know I _do_ got it, damn it! No, this isn’t a joke. Get a move on and call them!”

He listened to Golo jabbering about the reward for a minute, then cut him short, “Yeah, yeah, fine. Just doing me civic duty and all that.”

Golo’s guffawing mixed most unfavourably with the static, so all Plutt could do was shout “Send my regards to Gatta. Praise to the Merciful Atoona. Over and out!” over the din and push the mic back into its holder.

He sighed, leant back and wiped the sweat from his brow. That ought to do the trick. He’d get rid of that damned droid before anybody came looking for it. Or worse – started combing through the desert for it. He shuddered, sending all of his chins in a jiggle.

That fry was going to be his death one day.

x X x

 **2.7. At First Sight:** in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:42 GST

_Encounters between strangers in the desert, while rare, were occasions of mutual suspicion, and masked by initial preparations on both sides for an incident that might prove either cordial or warlike._

Walter M. Miller, Jr. – A Canticle for Leibowitz

When he had allayed his thirst and his capacity to grasp a rational thought had returned, Finn looked around. He’d never been _anywhere_ before other than as a part of an occupying army, which tended to give a very different complexion to a place’s atmosphere. Also, small villages were of no interest at all to any strategically minded officer (i.e., all of them); they didn’t send troops to dwellings that didn’t have at least half a million inhabitants. To make it short – never had he seen a place so small, so ostentatiously unimportant, so happy to mind its own business and nothing else. It was some kind of reverse culture shock.

How was he supposed to get away from _here?_ Did these people even know what a spaceship was? How long until the First Order hunters had caught up with him?

A noise woke him from his cogitations. Looking over, he saw a young girl attacked by two thugs at once; one was holding her from behind while the other was stealing her droid and pushed it into a sack. Finn’s training and sense of duty kicked him into action before he could think twice; he jumped to his feet and started sprinting over, only to see the girl turning the tables on her assailants without any need for outside assistance. She kicked, she bit, she boxed, she made admirable use of her quarter staff, and before long, Finn felt almost sorry for the two robbers, especially when she grinded the staff into the groins of the one on the ground with her right and at the same time slammed her left elbow into the face of the other one still standing. Oooh. That must have hurt. _Badly._

She freed the droid, then suddenly turned her head and seemed to look with a very hostile expression straight at Finn. Without noticing it, he put out a protective hand to cover his private parts, and looked over his shoulder to see which villain had incurred that amazon’s wrath now.

The problem was – there was no one. He checked, just that by now, she had covered thirty metres already; she was running towards _him_ , teeth bared in an angry snarl, quarter staff at the ready, and sheer self-preservation made Finn turn on his heels and beat it as fast as he could, even if he hadn’t got the faintest inkling why this stranger was persecuting him.

He ran and sidestepped until he was certain to have lost her. Then, out of nowhere, she hit him. Literally. With her staff. In the back. He went down like a ton of ammo.

“What’s your hurry, thief!”

This must be a case of mistaken identity. It happened all the time among Stormtroopers. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but she raised her staff once again, so for a start, he rolled himself into a ball in order to protect the most sensitive areas.

Only then, he blurted out, “I’m not a thief!”

The droid zapped him for his troubles and beeped so fast that Finn didn’t understand half of what it was saying, the only codes he could positively identify were ‘master’ and ‘stolen’.

“What?!”

“The jacket!” the female warrior growled. “The droid said you stole it!”

Unsafe as it was, Finn had always prided himself on his unimpeachable honour and raised his head in defiance. “I’ve had a pretty messed up day, alright? I’d appreciate if you did not accuse me of – ouch!”

Another zap, right into his buttocks.

She raised the staff another ten centimetres. “That jacket you’re wearing – it belongs to his master.”

Oh, shoot! This droid must be _the_ droid. What a terrible irony!

“Its master – his name was Poe Dameron, right?” he asked. The droid looked at the girl in utter bewilderment. “He was captured by the First Order. I helped him escape, but our ship crashed.” He swallowed hard. “Poe didn’t make it.”

The droid lowered its head and made a plaintive sound. Honestly, Finn had never seen a machine so expressive.

“I tried to help him. I’m sorry.”

The droid averted its head, then slowly rolled away. It made it look as if it was hanging its shoulders without having any. This was some serious piece of programming to be sure!

“So you’re with the Resistance,” the young woman said with unveiled curiosity. Now that she was no longer scowling at him, Finn thought he had never seen anyone so pretty.

He got to his feet and squared his shoulders. “Obviously,” he replied, wondering if he had lost his mind or what, but unable to stop himself. “Yes, I am! I’m with the Resistance, yeah.”

His reward was pure, unadulterated admiration in the pretty girl’s face, making her even more pretty, so he repeated as if he was sharing a great secret with her, “I’m with the _Resistance_.”

And why ever not, eh? He had helped a Resistance fighter, after all. And in this dump, who could tell the difference?

“I’ve never met a Resistance fighter before,” she said and smiled, and if he hadn’t been so utterly bedazzled by that smile, Finn might have congratulated himself on his excellent assessment of the situation. “I _knew_ it!”

“Yeah?”

“BB-8 said he mustn’t reveal his mission, but I knew it must be that.” She nodded, satisfied, and did not notice that Finn’s shoulders slouched a little. For a second there, he’d flattered himself into believing she’d pecked him as a natural Resistance fighter.

He might have tried for an answer to gently steer her back into admiring him some more, but his gallant efforts were nipped in the bud by a distant, but all-too-well-known sound. There was nothing in the galaxy sounding quite like a twin-ion-engine.

“Oh no,” he whispered, cursing himself for forgetting, however shortly, how ultimately futile any planning for the future was going to be.

He snatched the girl’s hand and tried to pull her away, but she, unwitting of what was aiming towards them there, merely yanked har hand away.

“What are you doing!” He grabbed her hand once more. They had to get away, and there was no time to explain. “Stop taking my hand!”

Then the first blast hit a warehouse not fifty metres away.

x X x

 **2.8. Just Do It:** in the Graveyard of Giants on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:50 GST

_They can because they think they can._

Virgil – Æneid

Living either in the desert or among ruthless scoundrels had honed Rey’s instincts for survival. As for coming up with three different plans off the cuff of her head, her love for story-telling had done it.

Never would she have fathomed though that one day, she’d be sitting in the pilot seat of Unkar Plutt’s favourite heap of garbage, trying to outrun a couple of TIE-fighters. In her nervousness, she hadn’t even found the ignition at first.

During the last ten years or so, she had managed to talk a number of pilots into allowing her to fly their crafts by baiting them with spare parts they urgently needed. Naturally, those had been very tame test runs with the apprehensive owner sitting beside her, ready to seize the steering column at any given moment. Never had she needed to find out what a particular button was doing by actually pressing it, with two fighter pilots on her tails and firing with frightening accuracy.

Somehow though, she managed to get them airborne (which was already more than she had given this ship credit for) and escape into the Graveyard of Giants. She knew her way around there, so she hoped they might find cover. Maybe even give them the slip.

Of course, the easiest way would have been a jump into hyperspace, but she didn’t trust the module to work. As it was, it needed warming up for minutes already without much progress. This was all Unkar Plutt’s fault! If only he hadn’t put so much pressure on the compressor –

The young man proved himself to be a competent shooter and took down one of their pursuers, but then the gunner turret got stuck the wrong way round. In a blind panic, Rey steered the ship into the innards of one of the tanked destroyers. She instantly knew this was the final bad decision she’d ever made in her life.

“Are we really doing this?!” the man screamed. Trying to navigate through the narrow confines of what had once been an exhaust system (not meant to be flown through in a freighter, that was!) and wildly swerving to avoid the blasts from the TIE right behind them, Rey hadn’t got the mind to spare for any answer. The alert indicating that the TIE had them in its crosshairs was shrilling. Also, this passage was going to end in less than two hundred metres. Either way, this would end in fiery, speedy death.

At least, BB-8 wouldn’t even know what was happening. But the poor Resistance fighter was stuck in a glass case. No matter which way he turned, his was staring his end right in the eye.

And then, she suddenly knew, rather than saw, a possibility. There was a narrow crack in the hull that she never would have contemplated flying through with anything bigger than her speeder. But with inevitable death awaiting her otherwise, she saw no reason not to at least give it a try. And not only that…

Ignoring all the alerts warning her, she tore the steering column around. Even she was surprised that she’d chosen exactly the right moment. One microsecond more or less would have been fatal. A turn of even one degree more or less would have been just as terminally bad. As it was, she shot out into the desert horizontally and once more yanked the control around to make them rise at a ninety-degree angle. Then she made a full U-turn, heading straight for the ground. Either the stranger would hit the TIE like this, or they’d hit the ground. _If_ they didn’t straight crash into the TIE first. For some weird reason though, Rey was certain it’d all work out perfectly, and it did. He hit the TIE, she managed another crazy turn, and almost jauntily, the pile of garbage sailed away towards the horizon.

Some minutes later, they met in the main corridor, both bubbling with excitement to be still alive.

“That was amazing!”

“How did you do this?”

“I have no idea. How did you?”

“Not a clue! I thought we were done for!”

She knelt down to look after BB-8, whose antenna had once more suffered. She straightened it.

“This is BB-8, by the way.”

He looked mystified. “Alright…”

Only then she realised that even now, she had never introduced herself. She got up and smiled. “And I don’t know your name.”

He smiled back. “Finn,” he replied with some emphasis. “And yours?”

“I’m Rey.”

x X x

 **2.9. Go Go Go:** in Niima Outpost on the planet Jakku, ABY 30/05/30, 07:51 GST

_No limits but the sky._

Miguel de Cervantes – Don Quixote

The inhabitants of Niima Outpost usually knew better than to stick their noses into other people’s business lest they’d get cut off, and enough of them vividly recalled the days of the Empire to seek cover as soon as spotting a Stormtrooper, let alone a TIE-fighter in attack mode. But, seeing that living in Niima Outpost also was uneventful and lethally boring, they scrambled out of their hideaways as soon as open fighting had relocated away from their direct surroundings. They ran towards the desert in the wake of the old junk pot closely chased by the two TIE-fighters, hollering and cheering for ‘their girl’ who, as they were all too aware, didn’t stand a chance against her pursuers, but had done remarkably well so far and they’d always applaud an underdog, because they were underdogs themselves.

“No, no, no,” Unkar Plutt whined as he, too, tried coaxing maximum speed out of his much-abused vehicle, which simply wasn’t built to support a creature of the Crolute’s dimensions, not to mention Slypher’s, who’d jumped into the sidecar unasked.

“Girl stole your ship, boss,” that one remarked and was hit over the head for that superfluous contribution.

“No, no, no, no,” Plutt went on, occasionally thumping the steering wheel. “ _Why_ couldn’t she just sell me the effing droid!”

“Uh…”

Unkar Plutt growled, “Don’t bother answering. She’s just a meddlesome – headstrong – annoying –”

“Stupid –”

Slypher received another wallop. “ _Ye’re_ stupid!”

A big whopper of an explosion behind one of the dunes made the Crolute flinch. “Nooo!”

“At least you didn’t pay very much for her.”

“What?!”

“I mean, ninety creds for that old heap of scrap metal –”

“Ye don’t even know what that ship is, do ye! Bleenea give me strength! That’s the doshin’ _Millennium Falcon_ , that is!”

“What! That tinpot –” Instinctively, Slypher lent to the side to evade receiving another thump, thus nearly derailing them both. “I just mean – in that case, you made a _real_ bargain, boss!”

“Ye think?” Plutt jeered, pointedly underscored by the sounds of heavy missiles shredding metal somewhere very close by. They made it over the last dune just in time to see the _Millennium Falcon_ disappear inside a crashed destroyer, still hotly pursued by a TIE-fighter. Plutt squeezed his eyes shut in horror and consequently tanked the speeder.

“One gets you ten the TIE-fighter gets her!” one of the other spectators cried.

“Don’t you mean the other way round?”

“I mean you give me ten creds or two rations if the bastard doesn’t get our girl!”

“I don’t have two rations!”

“You don’t have ten credits either, Bucky!”

Plutt cursed them all under his breath and stared at the destroyer with a dry mouth. The inhabitants of Jakku had more pressing problems than bothering for politics; half of them probably thought the Empire was still ruling, most of the other half had never heard of the First Order before. Unkar Plutt though had. Like Spaken the barman, he owned a radio, but unlike Spaken, he didn’t use it to listen to music. That’s why he had known that the First Order was looking for a BB-unit with distinct orange markings, that’s why he had wanted it and had been willing to buy it for outrageously many rations, or if need be, obtain it by force. _He_ would have known what to do with it.

Suddenly, the _Millennium Falcon_ shot out vertically from the destroyer, the TIE right on its tails, then did a 180 and headed straight back to the ground. Plutt clasped his hands to his eyes, unable to face the impending crash, and sent a prayer to Gangar the All-Powerful, thereby missing the brilliant manoeuvre which allowed the _Falcon_ to shoot down its pursuer just before hitting the sands and pull up in the very last second. It was a splendid piece of piloting that drew raucous applause from the assembled onlookers.

Hearing the merry cheers, Plutt dared lowering his hands only to see the victorious ship disappear in the cloudless skies and a nightworm diving out of the sand to claim what was left of the loser. He had lots of competition; at least fifteen scavengers were trying the same.

“Bless ye, scrod, may Atoona guard ye on yer way,” he mumbled and wiped a tear from his eye before Slypher could spot it.

x X x

_**2.10. Revenge:** on the planet Canto Bight, ABY 29/02/13_

_The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference. Because of indifference, one dies before one actually dies._

Elie Wiesel – 27 October 1986

“For Hays Minor!”

“For Hays Minor,” Rose confirmed into her comlink, and added quietly, “and any other world destroyed by them.”

She had placed the last of the detonators inside the distribution box regulating the entire electricity of the upper floor, and quickly crawled back into the air vent. Pearl said it served those bastards right to be blown up by their own merchandise, but truth be told, Rose didn’t entirely appreciate the irony. To her, it did not make any difference where the bombs came from that were going to send this entire convention center full of arms dealers to oblivion. She would happily have strangled them with her own hands if it came to that.

Only that, of course, she wouldn’t. As Pearl often remarked, partly affectionate, partly exasperated, her youngest sister couldn’t hurt a fly. And she was right. Flies were innocent creatures, annoying perhaps, but not doing it on purpose. For that matter, she wouldn’t have killed _any_ animal other than in self-defence. Because even a Raaltiir tiger didn’t kill out of malice. Only sentient creatures knew malice. Only sentient creatures knew greed. And only a very few sentient creatures were so out of touch that, in order to satisfy their greed, they cared not how many they killed only so they could buy another flashy space yacht. Or whatever it was they did with their bottomless wealth; Rose wasn’t entirely sure on that point. She couldn’t imagine what one would do with one’s money after one was fed, and clothed, and had a roof over one’s head. A bigger roof, probably. More expensive clothes. More refined food. But there was only so much of even the most exquisite food in the galaxy that one could eat, only so many elegant clothes one could put on.

She wriggled along the shaft in good time, so good that she even allowed herself a peek or two whenever she came across another grill. How flashy and ostentatious these people were! And how self-important. She saw glossy folders presenting the merchandise of death. One guy, otherwise rather unimpressively made-up, was unrolling a large poster of something resembling the Death Star (or what Rose imagined that to have looked like). Spurred on by a fellow engineer’s curiosity, she goggled at the immaculately fine drawings of a _very_ elaborate oscillator the size of a small continent, fascinated by the guy’s megalomania. It’d never work. An oscillator of that size needed far too much energy.

One girl though caught her eye. She wasn’t one of the conference attendees but a waitress, and she was crying in a corner, anxious that no one could accidentally spot her. Well, she clearly hadn’t taken an observer in the air conditioning into account.

In spite of herself, Rose slowed down. What had upset her so? But regardless what her current troubles were, that girl would be killed alongside with the rest in less than ten minutes. That couldn’t be right.

“Psst,” she made and was shocked by herself.

Panicked, the girl whirled around, looking this way and that and hastily drying her eyes with her apron.

In for a screw, in for a lathe, her old master had taught Rose. She tried to make sure nobody but that girl was around, then pushed out the grill. The girl stared at her like a ghost covered in cobwebs and black combat gear.

“You – what’s your name?” Rose asked with the nicest smile she could muster.

“K-k-kaydel,” the girl stammered, pressing against the wall as if she hoped it might open up behind her.

“You want to live, Kaydel?”

Eyes wide, the girl nodded very slowly.

Rose stretched out her arm. “Then follow me. This whole place will blow up in a minute.”

“ _What?!_ ”

It took some more persuasion (persuasiveness was one of those talents that Rose was totally without), but then the girl finally saw the light. Rose helped her clamber into the air shaft and together they crawled forwards. By now, there wasn’t all that much time left, but Rose thought it more prudent not to tell the girl that.

Instead she panted, “I’m Rose Tico, by the way.”

“Kaydel Co Connix.”

“Is Co part of your first name, or your family name?”

“It’s a patronym.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s my father’s name.”

“Your father’s not around here, is he?”

“My parents are dead,” Kayel said, sounding once more perilously close to weeping.

“Mine too. That’s why we’re doing all this.”

“What _are_ you doing, anyhow?”

“I’ll tell you once we’re out.”

“How much longer –”

Her comlink crackled into life. “Abort!” someone shouted. Rose thought it sounded like Summer. “Ushar and Ruby’ve been caught!”

“What’s that mean?” Kaydel asked breathlessly.

Good question. Rose came to a halt, turned on her flashlight and consulted the blueprint. If Ushar and Ruby hadn’t been able to fulfil their mission, their escape route through the garbage chute was blocked.

“We will _not_ abort!” another voice, Brook’s voice, clanged. “We’ll meet in sixty seconds on the roof!”

Rose stared at the blueprint. They’d never make it up there in sixty seconds. Not even in a hundred and twenty! And now she had dragged that poor girl into all this! Was the last thing they were going to see in this life this silly air shaft?! Outside, some kind of alarm went off.

“Rose?” The girl was pulling on Rose’s leg.

“I’m so sorry, Kaydel, I –”

“Shut up and listen. I know how we can get to the roof in time. Through the service staircase.”

“But –”

“I work here, remember? I’ve got a key card.”

So they did make it to the roof, but only Brook, Violet and Jade were there. “Where are the others?”

“Caught, or stuck. They already started evacuating. If we don’t ignite the bombs in the next thirty seconds –”

“But –”

Brook waved at her to shut up. The other two were deadly pale behind their scarves. Apparently, they’d already had this discussion. He yanked out the igniter.

“You wanna blow up a building you’re standing on?!” Kaydel gasped.

Brook turned to her, visibly mystified. “Who are _you_ , anyway?”

“A person who doesn’t want to die!”

Rose, usually hating to speak if there were more than three people present, felt obliged to chip in, “This is Kaydel. She was working here.”

“You brought along a spy?!” Brook shouted.

“She’s not –”

“There’s Pearl already,” Violet said and pointed at an incoming small freighter. There wasn’t much space to land between all the air-conditioning blocks and fancy bit of architecture, so Pearl had to hover and threw them a rope ladder. Jade, the most limber of them, climbed up first, followed by Violet. Rose pushed Kaydel forwards, suddenly frightened that otherwise, they might leave this stranger behind whom Brook had already labelled a spy. Brook gave them both a death glare, hung the igniter around his neck and went up next. This was the moment when the security details showed up on the rooftop, too, and started shooting at the freighter.

Rose and Kaydel were halfway up the ladder. Rose had taken a hit in the left shoulder and was barely holding on, the other girl had a badly bleeding leg injury when the ship started tumbling. Pearl was a really good pilot, but she couldn’t hold the position with half of the engine on fire, so she tried to steer the freighter away from the convention center and towards street level.

And Brook finally blew the whole thing up.

x X x

 **2.11. Just Doing His Duty:** aboard the _Finalizer_ , ABY 30/05/30, 11:26 GST

_I do oppose_   
_My patience to his fury, and am arm’d_   
_To suffer, with a quietness of spirit,_   
_The very tyranny and rage of his._

Antonio – The Merchant of Venice

Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka was one of four Intelligence officers assigned to directly assist General Hux. Out of these four, he regarded himself to be the unluckiest by far. Usually, they followed a strict protocol to organise the job between them, with the only exception of having to deal with Kylo Ren – in such a case, they drew straws (as a matter of fact, each of them carried a set of four short pieces of metal just for such an occurrence, one of those marked with a befittingly black spot), and Mitaka held the record of being the poor bugger forced to handle what they all considered to be a madman. Ren was awesome alright, but even more awful.

He’d drawn the short straw once again today, and even before entering Ren’s office, he felt his tunic sticking to his back for all the cold sweat.

He doffed his cap. “Sir,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, “we were unable to acquire the droid on Jakku. It escaped capture on board of a stolen Corellian YT-model freighter.”

Slowly, menacingly, Ren turned to face him. “The droid – stole a freighter…?”

Lucky for them those two TIE-fighter pilots sent to pick the thing up were dead already, or they’d have been in some serious peril of being murdered by Lieutenant Dopheld Mitaka, for having to explain their inexplicable failure to the galaxy’s most ill-humoured superior.

“Not exactly, sir. It had help. We have no confirmation, but we believe FN-2187 may have helped in the escape –”

Ren whirled back round and whipped out his dreadful red lasersword. In terror, Mitaka watched him slashing the consoles with the blade, over and over _and over_. The smell of burning metal and molten plastic clogged Mitaka’s nose and provoked his gag reflex. ‘Oh stars, please don’t let me throw up in front of Kylo Ren!’ he prayed inwardly, instantly followed by ‘Please don’t make him turn around and kill me!’

Eventually, Ren calmed down (he always did, but that was only of little comfort for the young lieutenant) and turned back as pleasantly as if he hadn’t just destroyed tech worth 30,000 credits. “Anything else?”

“The two were accompanied by a girl –”

Mitaka didn’t know what was happening to him as he felt an invisible hand snatch him by the throat and drag him through the air towards Ren, his feet hardly touching the floor.

“What girl?!” Ren snapped.

What girl? _What girl!_ Heck, _he_ didn’t know!

“I – don’t – know,” Mitaka choked, thinking his last hour had dawned at last. Even in his nightmares, it hadn’t been as horrific as this.

Ren let go, but at the same time stopped Mitaka from falling over as he surely would have otherwise. He did something else with his hand and the young man suddenly felt as if some strange power entered his head. He knew enough of Ren to understand what this was, and got even more scared. Ren mustn’t know what he thought of him, stars, he’d murder him for real if he ever learnt just how –

But Ren didn’t seem at all interested to find out what Mitaka, or anyone else he’d ever talked to, said about him behind his back. Instead, he forced him to recall in minute detail his conversation with General Hux on the subject of the escaped droid and any other mention of the girl in question. She had been nothing but an also-ran, hardly mentioned in fact – just another pesky civilian blinded by grand notions of heroism and the Republic, they had automatically assumed. According to another civilian who had been interrogated on the spot, she was just a young scavenger, without any political affiliations of her own, who’d gotten into all this by accident because she had found the droid in question in the desert and felt responsible to return it to its owner. The interrogatee had appeared quite solicitous and begged the interrogating officer to return her, or ‘at least do her no harm, she’s a good scrod’.

When Mitaka returned to be solely in charge of his own thought-processes, he found himself standing in the middle of the wrecked room with Ren half-way out already. He kept standing there, frozen and counting his lucky stars, until he could no longer ignore his desperate need to go to the bathroom and throw up.

x X x

 **2.12. An Awakening:** aboard the _Supremacy_ , ABY 30/05/30, 13:15 GST

_He liked to observe emotions; they were like red lanterns strung along the dark unknown of another’s personality, marking vulnerable points._

Ayn Rand – Atlas Shrugged

There has been an awakening. For a minute or two, the Force itself was shuddering with its power; not even Skywalker (junior) outlined so strongly against its background. And it happened on Jakku. _Jakku!_ There are houses on Coruscant inhabited by more people than that ridiculous excuse for a planet! Yet one of these base desert-dwellers has spewed out a child of sheer magnificence. Or as the erstwhile Guardians of the Whills would have said: The ways of the Force are unfathomable.

This is definitely worth keeping an eye on, but first things first. I summon my two wonderboys (it is somewhat degrading having to plan a coup with children scarcely old enough to have grown a beard, but a smart general can spin aurodium out of hay) for an audience. Hux junior is eager as ever, but the boy is too pensive for his own good (or mine!); his mind is only half there, which is never a good sign, and makes for some difficulties in controlling him.

“Supreme Leader, I take full responsibility –”

“General!” I interrupt him before he can deliver more of that dishonest nonsense. He says he’ll take the responsibility because he thinks that is the proper thing to say, but in fact, young Hux has never in his short life encountered any unpleasantness that he didn’t blame on someone else. He thinks he’s the sole sun of his own solar system, when in fact he’s the black hole in the middle of a dying galaxy.

“Our strategy must now change.”

“The weapon,” Hux goes on, perfectly undeterred, “it is ready. I believe the time has come to use it.”

Ah, but the boy doesn’t think so. His aversion is so strong, I can feel it despite his mask, even though I’m lightyears away. He has a strange attachment to heavenly bodies.

“We shall destroy the Republic. Without their friends to protect them, the Resistance will be vulnerable and we will stop them before they reach Skywalker.”

Speaking of strange attachments – any mention of the Resistance, or the Republic, triggers a similarly strong response. Naturally, that one isn’t hard to penetrate – his dear mother embodies both, and while there is lots of resentment in the boy to work with, there are also intractable remnants of affection, inextricably linked with each other. I’ve been labouring for years trying to straighten him out, and yet, he remains dogged.

I turn to Hux junior. “Go. Oversee preparations.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader,” he replies oilily, and casts his rival a triumphant glance. This kid would cut off his own nose to spite his face. I wouldn’t want to imagine what he’d sacrifice only get one over Kylo Ren. All the same, that petty competition between these two fatuous juveniles has propelled the First Order forward more effectively than years of faithful service from more level-headed men.

As soon as Hux is out of the door, I mention that there’s been an awakening. “Have you felt it?”

“Yes,” he says simply, but his feelings say a whole lot more. I’d expect smugness, or curiosity, but for some reason, there’s mainly contrition, which in turn arouses my curiosity.

“It happened on Jakku. Did you perceive any uncommon occurrence while you were there?”

The boy is squirming as if he was tied to a torture rack. “Yes, master. I… I know I ought to have informed you sooner, but I let myself be distracted by the search for Skywalker.”

“Distracted from what exactly?”

“There was a very young Stormtrooper – the one who freed the Resistance pilot, as it turned out. I sensed him through the Force, I also sensed his – scruples. But I paid him only little attention. Too little. Forgive me.”

Oh, that imbecile! I could have won my Empire back three times over if I wasn’t constantly surrounded by tender-hearted, weak-willed and even weaker-minded nincompoops! And the worst thing is – I cannot even punish him. Not _now_. Not when I’m so close to finally getting him where I need him.

“There’s something more: the droid we seek is on the _Millennium Falcon_.” I pause to gauge his reaction – oh yes. The boy is in dire need of all the supportiveness I can muster, even though I’d like to kick him all the way into Hutt space and beyond! He’s almost twenty-five, damn it! At twenty-five, I’d killed my entire family without losing any sleep over the deed. What am I saying, I did that aged nine! But there he is, far and away the mightiest warrior of his generation, and he goes all wobbly only because he hears the name of his father’s ship!

This is not a good omen, I don’t mind telling you.

Time to put on the thumb screws. “In the hands of your father, Han Solo.”

He needs to collect himself for a few moments before he can bring himself to whimper, “He means nothing to me.”

Ha! He’s not even a good liar – well, he never was, it’s a kind of compulsion with him. Incurable chronic truthfulness!

“Even you – master of the Knights of Ren – have never faced such a test,” I go on probing with the most sympathetic face I can muster (don’t take this as sarcasm; I can do sympathy like a port side madam on payday night, it’s one of my favourite disguises. But with _this_ face, it’s not easy). And he laps it up. He always does.

“By the grace of your training, I will not be seduced,” he blurts out. It’s hilarious; I need to muster all my self-control not to laugh out loud.

“We shall see. We shall see.” All ominous. Let him know I’ve got my doubts if he’s got it in him. Make him want to prove himself.

x X x

 **2.13. Show Me, Grandfather:** aboard the _Finalizer_ , ABY 30/05/30, 16:31 GST

_Every man has at times in his mind the ideal of what he should be, but is not._

Theodore Parker – Critical and Miscellaneous Writings

Kylo Ren had no official role within the ranks of the First Order, as they kept pointedly reminding him. All the same, he was the Supreme Leader’s apprentice and on occasion, warlord, so he didn’t have to share quarters with any common soldiers. On every ship he stayed, he was assigned special quarters, usually consisting of an office, a bedroom and a small bathroom to himself. Being them, they made sure it was the smallest available space, the kind of quarters usually reserved for very junior officers. They hadn’t got an inkling in what circumstances he had lived for more than half of his life, and that these rooms struck him as preposterously luxurious.

Well, he’d unfortunately just wrecked his office, so when he returned to his quarters, he carefully carried his most prized possession over to his bedroom and placed it on the nightstand.

He needed to calm himself, he knew, and meditation was the best way to do that. So he stretched out his hand and with great veneration touched the mask of his grandfather.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I feel it again. The pull to the light… The Supreme Leader senses it, too.”

‘The Supreme Leader is wise. You’re lucky he is your master.’

He told the mask all his troubles, beginning with the darned deserter and his own inglorious role in that debacle, followed by his horror of the planned destruction of the Hosnian system – he understood it must be done, but frankly, he would have given anything to prevent it from happening.

‘Don’t you want to see the Senate punished for stealing away your mother from you?’ the mask replied understandingly.

“Yes! But there’s got to be some better way than _that!_ ”

‘This is war, my boy. Sacrifices have to be made, even if they’re hurtful. They wouldn’t be sacrifices otherwise.’

Speaking of sacrifices – the thing weighing even heavier on his mind was the sacrifice expected of _him_ , just that it wasn’t even supposed to be a sacrifice, and he dared not call it that even to his own grandfather. He told him of Han Solo having the darned droid, and how fearful he was of not having the strength to confront and kill him. Again, his grandfather was both sympathetic and supportive, assuring him he did have the strength, and once he’d overcome his childish qualms, the path to total control and power would be free also.

Kylo so wanted to believe him, but his doubts lingered regardless. All his life, people had had such high hopes for him, and he’d let them all down. He’d eventually let his grandfather down, too, he was sure of it.

“Show me again, Grandfather, the power of the darkness,” he beseeched him. “and I will let stand nothing in our way. Show me, Grandfather, and I will finish what you started.”

And his grandfather did oblige him.

x X x

 **2.14. Too Old for This Game:** aboard the _Millennium Falcon_ , ABY 30/05/30, 19:44 GST

_The fleeting shapes_   
_So many years ago_   
_So young and beautiful and brave_   
_Everything was true_   
_It couldn't be a story_

The Cure – The Drowning Man

He was getting too old for this crap.

Maybe there had once been a time when he could have pulled it off, playing the Guavian Death Gang against Kanjiklub in order to smuggle live rathtars over to Gelombang, but those times were long gone, and poor old Chewie had almost got killed over this plan that, when you stopped to think about it, wasn’t just foolhardy but downright reckless. Suicidal, really. How had Leia always said? ‘You’ve got a secret death wish, and I want nothing to do with it!’ Back then, he had dismissed the remark as rich coming from the very woman responsible for most of his troubles, but in moments like this one, he wondered if she hadn’t hit the nail right on the head.

Just now, it had been that kid from the back of beyond who had saved the _Falcon_ from exploding, not him, her captain of nigh fifty years. He simply hadn’t got it anymore. At his time of life, he should probably be sitting on some veranda or other, pipe in hand and a cold glass of whiskey nearby, watching the grandchildren play… Alas, that particular ship had flown.

Or had it? Maybe Ben did have some children of his own…? Nah. You couldn’t become the next Vader and entertain a family on the side, Han was sure. For heaven’s sake, _he_ hadn’t managed so much, and his ambitions had been so much humbler.

“Han Solo?”

Speaking of children, the kid had come back in with that disconcertingly broad smile of hers.

“Or shall I call you General Solo? Finn said you’re a hero of the Rebellion…”

Back of beyond? Scratch that. On Jakku, they hadn’t even heard of one of the Rebellion’s most famous protagonists yet. If only he had known _that_ earlier!

“I’m Han. Just Han,” he muttered, trying to harden himself against that infectious smile. She struck him like a ray of sunshine.

“Han, I think we’ll get a problem with the exhaust port, but I’ve had this idea how to fix it. You see –”

She pelleted him with rapid-fire suggestions how to mend the exhaust port that he had been meaning to fix for years, each smart and workable. Damn it, why hadn’t _he_ thought of either of them?!

She was back half an hour later, the boy claiming he was ‘Resistance’ in tow. “That’ll do for now. I think we can make it all the way to the Illeennium system without further trouble. At least as far as the exhaust is concerned.”

“The Illeennium system,” Han repeated hoarsely.

“We need to get BB-8 to the Resistance. He’s got the map to Luke Skywalker.”

“Luke Skywalker.” He slumped onto the nearest bench without even noticing. All of a sudden, his knees had turned very weak.

“Oh, right! You must know him, don’t you?”

“Yes… I knew Luke…” Knew him! Loved him like a brother! Loved him so well, he trusted him with their boy, even! He ran his hand over his face and feebly beckoned at the droid. “Well, then. Show us what you’ve got.”

It rolled to the middle of the room and projected a very detailed star chart of what looked like the Mid Rim. Han got back to his feet, hoping no one had noticed his little lapse. He closely inspected the map.

“This map is incomplete, it’s just a piece” he pointed out. But the two youngsters marvelled at it regardless. “That, over here, is clearly the Lamda sector, but half of it is missing. This is where Xandil I ought to be, you can tell by its planet’s orbits. Over there, the entire Horos system isn’t there either. My guess is it’s one half of a map, and you need to project the second piece over it to get a full picture.”

“So it’s useless?”

“On its own, pretty much, yeah. But who knows, maybe Leia’s got the other half already.”

“Leia?” the silly boy asked like an idiot. Resistance, eh? In his life, Han’d heard lots of men tell lots of tall tales and do lots of stupid things only to impress a woman. Heck, he’d done half of them himself. But getting involved with the war against the First Order only to get laid seemed a bit over the top, even if the female in question was as enchanting as this one. She really was enchanting, in the most literal sense; there was an oddly mesmerizing quality to her, and also something strangely familiar. But perhaps that was just due to her having a certain similarity to Leia when she was still very young.

“General Organa,” he clarified archly.

Oh, _her_ the boy’d heard of, clearly. Han wondered what kind of stories about his estranged wife were making the rounds, seeing that this kid looked as if he was talking of the famous monster Nharqis'Al.

“So you’ll help us, getting BB-8 to her?” the girl asked brightly.

“I’ll help you alright. We’re near Kenn Sicor, an old pal of mine’s got a tavern there. We’ll find you a reliable pilot to take you to D’Qar, don’t worry.”

“You mean you won’t come with us?”

“That is exactly what I mean.”

He couldn’t face Leia, he simply couldn’t. She’d suffered enough. And so, incidentally, had he. No need to open old wounds.

He felt the girl’s eyes on him and made a show of studiously inspecting the star chart. But she seemed to change tack. “Why did Luke Skywalker leave?”

Or maybe she didn’t.

“Ever since Luke disappeared, people have been looking for him.”

“But why did he leave?” she asked again.

Han had never worn his heart on his lapels, and he sure as hell wouldn’t relate his family’s personal tragedy to these strange children. “He was training a new generation of Jedi. One boy…” He swallowed, finding the girl hanging on his every word. “An apprentice turned against him. Destroyed it all. Luke felt responsible and he just walked away from everything.”

There you go, he thought grimly, every word of that was true.

Apparently, it was the boy’s turn to ask questions. “Do you know what happened to him?”

Han knew exactly what had happened to him; he’d become Kylo Ren, scourge of the galaxy. Only then he realised the kid was talking of Luke, not Ben.

“There were a lot of rumours. Stories. Those who knew him best –” Insert: Leia. “They think he went looking for the first Jedi temple.”

“The Jedi were real?”

The girl, again, and once again smiling that broad, worrisome smile.

“I used to wonder about that myself. I thought it was a bunch of mumbo-jumbo – a magical power holding together good and evil, the dark side and the light… The crazy thing is: it’s all true. All of it. The Force, the Jedi, it’s all true.”

How he wished it wasn’t! He’d have a son still if only it wasn’t!

x X x


	4. Chapter 4

**3\. Takodana**

_I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teachings my blood whispers to me. My story is not a pleasant one; it is neither sweet nor harmonious, as invented stories are; it has the taste of nonsense and chaos, of madness and dreams — like the lives of all men who stop deceiving themselves._  
_Each man’s life represents the road toward himself, and attempt at such a road, the intimation of a path. No man has ever been entirely and completely himself. Yet each one strives to become that — one in an awkward, the other in a more intelligent way, each as best he can._

Hermann Hesse – _Demian_

x X x

 **3.1. Run for Your Lives:** in Maz Kanata’s castle on the planet Takodana, ABY 30/06/01, 03:16 GST

_And sidelong glanced, as to explore,_  
_In meditated flight, the door_

Sir Walter Scott – _Rokeby_

Their instructors had always warned them of the Republic’s pernicious decadence, so the first time Finn entered a taverna, he had some wildly exaggerated expectations of what it was going to be. Facing reality, he found he was both disappointed and thoroughly beguiled. Also, he wondered whether he had entirely grasped the meaning of the word ‘decadence’.

There were just so many things to see! A full-frontal assault on the senses! There were people he’d so far only ever seen in manuals, and then some he couldn’t even attribute at all to any species he knew. The sheer number of languages! The overwhelming smells! The loud, bizarre music! Not to mention the suspicious nourishment their host urged them to try.

That host, General Solo’s ‘old pal’, was very short, very wrinkled and alarmingly shrewd. She also was entirely orange, and wore goggles that magnified her penetrating eyes just as disconcertingly. Her name was Maz Kanata, and from what he gathered, she was supposedly nine hundred years old. She certainly looked her age. Also, Solo had told them she had, for many years, been a pirate. That a Rebellion general had criminals among his close acquaintance seemed to support what Finn had been taught. On the other hand, he was increasingly doubtful of anything he’d ever learnt, so maybe he should reserve his judgment.

Incapable of bringing himself to eat any of the served food, he observed Rey on the other side of the table. She seemed just as amazed with their surroundings as he felt, without his reservations though. When she gobbled down even the stuff with tentacles, remarking every twenty seconds how delicious it tasted, Finn didn’t even suspect her of trying to be polite any longer. She must be ravenously hungry.

Meanwhile, General Solo and the orange female discussed whether it wouldn’t be better if Solo shipped back the droid himself.

“Go _home_ , Han.”

“I _am_ back home! I’ve finally got the _Falcon_ back.”

“A ship is a means of transport, not a home.”

“You must know I can’t go back to her, Maz.”

“You should know you can’t keep running away from her either.”

“I’m not running away from her! _She_ gave _me_ the boot.”

“After you’ve been running from her for twenty-five years, you mean?”

“Trust me, Leia doesn’t want to see me.”

“You’ve lost your son, Han. Do you think anyone is more qualified to share her grief than you are?”

Finn was acutely embarrassed to involuntarily listen to the general’s marital problems, all the more since he’d realised that the spouse in question was none other than General Organa herself. He’d pretty much blown his cover over that one. Solo had all but called him out, telling him in private with a very poignant look, “Women always figure out the truth. _Always_.”

In a way, it was almost a relief. He couldn’t have kept up that ridiculous charade much longer, if you thought about it. But that would mean he’d have to admit to Rey that he had lied to her. Not only did he foresee that she wasn’t going to take that dishonesty well. She’d no longer have any reason to hold him in high esteem either. He knew very well how pathetic this was, but… No one, especially not a girl like her, had ever looked at him like that. Even when he’d been at the top of his class in pretty much everything, the best he’d gotten was a clap on the shoulder, or a perfunctory ‘Well done, cadet’. Their instructors had warned them of spice, and alcohol, but no one had ever mentioned the dangers of instant addiction to admiration.

“Not only are you running away from your wife, you’re skirting your responsibilities altogether,” the orange one said and slapped the table with her hand.

“Yeah? I don’t see you putting up conscription tables.”

“That fight is upon us all, Han. Even the Senate no longer denies it.”

“’ua figh?” Rey threw in, mouth full.

“The only fight! Against the Dark side! It makes no difference which name they give themselves, the Sith, the Empire, the First Order. We must face them and fight them off. All of us.”

Someone was walking over Finn’s proverbial grave. “There _is_ no fight against the First Order!” he gasped. “Not one we can win. Look around. There’s no chance we haven’ t been recognized already.”

He gazed around wildly, spotting at least a dozen likely candidates for betrayal. Gosh, had he really been sitting around here _forgetting_ them? Worrying more about the food than the bloodhounds they’d sent after him?! Deluding himself that the girl Rey’s opinion of him was what truly mattered, while the First Order was probably already warming up their ventral cannons?!

He turned back because he heard the sound of breaking glass, only to find the Kanata woman scuttling across the table towards him like a four-feet-tall spider, and not giving a damn how much crockery she kicked down.

He shrank back until his head hit the wall. She closed in until her face was only inches away from his, and lifted a hand. For an absurd second he thought she was going to kiss him, but she merely adjusted her goggles until her eyes were twice as big as before, peering at him like an X-ray.

“If you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people.”

“Yeah? And what do you see in mine?” he asked with fake bravado. That woman was scaring the heebie-jeebies out of him.

“You want to run.”

“You don’t know a thing about me! Where I’m from, what I’ve seen!”

“I don’t pretend I do. All I know is that you’re frightened.”

“With the First Order at our heels? You bet I’m frightened! Though I’d call it a healthy sense for self-preservation.”

“You can run away, it’s your choice. See those two smugglers underneath the window? The Fluggrian and the Britarro with the red scarf? They’ll trade work for transportation to the Outer Rim.”

Finn threw Solo a helpless look – among men wanting to run, so to speak, but the old man just shrugged.

“Finn!” Rey cried. “You don’t seriously –”

“Come with me.”

“What about BB-8? We’ve got to get him back to your base.”

“I believe General Solo fully capable of that. Come with me, Rey.”

“No! I’ve promised him to bring him back to his owner, and then I’ll go back to Jakku.”

“Jakku! Why does everyone want to go back to freakin’ Jakku?!”

“Mind your own business.”

“Got a boyfriend there, uh? A cute boyfriend?”

“None of your business!”

With a heavy heart, he took that as a yes, got up and handed back the blaster Solo had given him earlier. But the old man just shook his head.

“Keep it, kid. You may still need it.”

He made it to the smugglers’ table when Rey caught up with him. His heart was soaring, but only for a second. Time to come clean at last. If she still wanted to go with him then…

“Finn, what are you doing?” she demanded. “You can’t just go.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” he murmured. “I’m not with the Resistance. I’m not a hero, I… Oh, to hell with this. Until – I guess it’s only yesterday – I was a Stormtrooper.”

Her jaw dropped open.

“Don’t give me that look! It’s not like I had a choice in the matter! I was taken from my family like the rest of them. But my first battle, I did make a choice. I wasn’t going to become a killer for them. I came across Poe and we escaped together.”

“You lied to me?” she exclaimed, a deep furrow between her eyes that now struck him as fierce rather than pretty.

“I didn’t – not really. I mean, technically –”

“ _Technically?!_ Are there any other ways, then!”

He wiped his forehead. “Look, it was you who assumed I was Resistance – and you looked at me like no one ever had – so I just ran with it.”

She shook her head in disbelief but without speaking, so he tried once more, “Rey, come with me. I _know_ the m.o. The First Order will slaughter them all.”

“Run, then,” she said, plainly disgusted. “ _I_ made a promise and I’m going to keep it.”

Thus, she turned away and walked back to where General Solo and Maz Kanata were still sitting, pretending they hadn’t tried to listen. Fat chance, over this hubbub!

“Take good care of yourself!” he called after her, but she didn’t turn around once more.

x X x

 ** _3.2. New Dog, Old Tricks:_** _aboard the_ Supremacy _, ABY 29/01/12_

_I will teach you your destiny._

Virgil – _Æneid_

Long before I decided to try my hand on ruling the galaxy, I already dabbled in politics here and there. The galaxy was much smaller still, hyperspace travelling was still in its infancy, and supreme domination of a single world was the highest ambition one could aim for. So I gave it a try and, naturally, succeeded. I became the King of Xorth, King Kamuthe I. to be precise. And my people fell over themselves to present me with my royal palace, an ancient fortress and seat of kings for thousands of years.

Geez, what a dump that was. The location was excellent, strategically, climatically, it even offered some not entirely ugly vistas. The palace was built of choice materials, too, the finest marble to be found on the planet, korendum in spades, chunah and aurodium. The builders had spared no expense to honour their king, but being the dirty peasants that they were, they hadn’t added a dram of taste to the mix. There was nothing else for it – I had to break it all up and build it anew.

So, you see, I’m an expert of long standing with the matter.

My latest project in breaking apart and rebuilding is the silly boy. When I’ve finished with him, he’ll be my uncontested masterpiece. He’s got the choice materials by nature – oh, whom am I kidding, he’s got them from me (it was me, after all, who brought his entire line into being when creating his grandfather). I spared no efforts on Skywalker senior then, but even I must admit that Skywalker III. is a particularly auspicious blend of darkness and light, unbridled power and raw talent. Of course, like my castle then, he was put together by idiots and laymen, but I can fix that easily.

When he arrived at my doorstep, he could sense other people’s feelings like other mortals recognise the colours of their clothes. It comes to him so naturally, he relies on his skill over any other information available. He’s also totally illiterate as far as interpretation is concerned, and as a consequence takes everything at face value, or draws from personal experience. When he senses fear in someone, and sees nothing else to be reasonably afraid of, why, he’ll think the person is afraid of _him_. Because he’s been scared of himself for half his life. That’s one of the reasons he’s struggling with certain social conventions, too – when someone accidentally steps on his toe (this is just an example, nobody would _dare_ – even officers three times his age give him a wide, respectful berth) and says sorry from habit and custom, not because they actually repent – the boy will only feel the indifference and lash out, not because of the original offence, but for the perceived insincerity.

That gift’s what he got from birth, like a gaudy aurodium pillar. I melted that pillar and remoulded it into a key, and a weapon.

I taught him how to use his innate talent to access what will never be available to 99.9999% of humanity, or any other species. I taught him how to read not only their emotions, but their minds. Being the diligent little sucker that he is, he’s spent the last two years practising, now he can rummage through another person’s memory and thoughts like other people leaf through a photo album.

I sometimes wonder why his former master – that blackest sheep in that whole family of disappointments – didn’t make more of the child’s unique skillset. Didn’t he recognise what he had in his hands? Maybe. Vader was an idiot, perhaps Skywalker junior took after him and not his much cleverer mother.

At any rate, Skywalker junior failed as much with the boy’s education as with everything else. Can you imagine he didn’t even teach his students how to mind-control someone else? There are a thousand generations of Jedi turning in their shallow graves with vicarious embarrassment, I bet. _They_ could do it at the drop of a hat. Being the dissembling dunces they were, of course they pretended they were only using it ‘for good’, but honestly, ‘for good’ is such a blanket term, you can stick it on any crime you please. At least _I_ am honest. In this regard, anyway. But where was I? Ah, yes. Ben Solo is a dark horse, a blank slate, a raw recruit – yet on his very first attempt, he managed to make a Stormtrooper shoot himself in the foot.

By now, we’re practising on ever increasing distances. The captain he is supposed to handle today is on board of a ship far out in the Western Reaches, seen only through holoprojection, and not to be talked to aloud. I wanted to see how far he can take it just by the power of his mind alone.

Captain Cummings so far has eaten his hat, sung a bawdy song and publicly admitted to having poisoned his predecessor in order to get this job. Well-meaning underlings have done their everything to make him shut up – in vain.

“Now kill him.”

Obediently, the boy raises his hand, but instead of choking him as I expected, he makes a quick move, breaking Cummings’s neck. Over such a distance! At his first try!

“Excellent!” I commend him and turn off the projector. “Very well done indeed! See, I told you you could do it.”

“It wasn’t hard, master. By his own admission, he was a murderer.”

Granted. That one got me a little stumped for an answer.

x X x

 **3.3. Absolute Annihilation:** aboard a transport in the orbit of the planet Takodana, ABY 30/06/01, 04:08 GST

_Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;_  
_I look far out into the pregnant night,_  
_Where I can hear a solemn booming gun_  
_And catch the gleaming of a random light,_  
_That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing._  
_My tearful eyes my soul’s deep hurt are glassing;_  
_For I would hail and check that ship of ships._  
_I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,_  
_My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,_  
_And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing._  
_O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,_  
_O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!_  
_Is there no hope for me? Is there no way_  
_That I may sight and check that speeding bark_  
_Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?_

Paul Laurence Dunbar – _Ships That Pass in the Night_

Motionless, Kylo stood in front of the large panoramic window. Anyone spotting him (though staff knew better than go anywhere near him if they didn’t _have_ to) might have been justified to assume that for once, he was perfectly calm, but such an assessment could not have been more wrong. On the outside, he was frozen; on the inside, he was shaking, not with anger, not with fear, but with intense, numbing regret. This ought not to be happening. He’d tried to prevent it – but had he done enough? There was nothing he could think of to dissuade Hux from wanting to try out his new toy – but the master? Snoke was strong with the Force, he must know what this meant, he might have been persuaded not to do it… Kylo _had_ tried, he really had, but Snoke had waved off every opposition as mere squeamishness.

Being the gigantic ass that he was, Hux had seized the opportunity for some self-aggrandizement and organised a huge assembly on Starkiller Base within sight of the weapon’s outlet in order to make a speech. Scratch that. He was having a screaming fit which was broadcast to every First Order ship; in this moment he was sputtering out of every loudspeaker including the one on the bridge where Kylo was.

“ _Today is the end of the Republic!_ The end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder!”

Kylo had always automatically assumed that he would jubilate on the day the Republic was vanquished, only to find that he felt as far from rejoicing as from considering Hux a decent person.

“All remaining systems will _bow_ to the First Order and will remember this AS THE LAST DAY OF THE REPUBLIC! _FIRE!_ ”

Seconds later an enormous beam of concentrated red light shot through Kylo’s field of vision, split up as it approached its targets, blew up the outermost planet as if he hit an egg with his lightsabre, blew up the next before finally hitting Hosnian Prime. Kylo staggered as the rift in the Force hit him, as every fibre of his being was screaming in protest; this was what ‘ _annihilation’_ meant, exactly this, not demolition, not destruction, but utter obliteration as if something had never even existed, and this sudden and complete disappearance of a handful of celestial bodies, each of them far too big for human consciousness to ever fully grasp, made him feel as if something vital was cut from his own body.

He wasn’t aware that for the first time in who knew how many years, underneath his mask tears were running down his face.

x X x

 **3.4. BREAKING NEWS: SENATE WIPED OUT** \- HoloVid Transmission, ABY 30/06/01, 04:10 GST

_We stand now at the turning point between two eras. Behind us is a past to which we can never return …_

Arthur C. Clarke – _Exploration of Space_

“Yes, Talulah, our craft is currently in what was the Hosnian system still half an our ago. As you can see, the only thing remaining of its five planets are occasional clumps of smouldering debris spinning through space.

We do not know what has happened here to bring about this unprecedented catastrophe. Eye witnesses report of red beams of light that some have dubbed ‘death lasers’ hitting the planets and causing them to blow up almost instantly.”

“What will worry our watchers most is the fate of the Senate, JC. Have you any pertaining information?”

“Take a look at that empty bit of space, Talulah! That is where Hosnian Prime was situated, and ask yourself what happened to the Senate! It is annihilated! And so must be a great part of the Republican Navy, which was stationed on Hosnian Prime and its neighbouring planet Courtsilius!”

“Surely, JC, you’re being just the tiniest bit alarmist –”

“ _Alarmist?!_ Grump, spin this thing around so they get a full picture. See this, Talulah? Or rather – tell me what it is that you do not see!

I cannot state this plainly enough: in this moment, the galaxy has neither any kind of government, nor forces to protect it!”

x X x

 **3.5. Follow the Voices:** in Maz Kanata’s castle on the planet Takodana, ABY 30/06/01, 04:13 GST

_Someone take these dreams away_  
_That point me to another day_  
_A dual personality_  
_A strange but true reality_  
_They keep calling me_  
_Keep on calling me_  
_They keep calling me_  
_Figures from the past stand tall_  
_And mocking voices ring above_  
_Imperialistic house of prayer_  
_Conquistadors who took their share_  
_They keep calling me_  
_Keep on calling me_  
_They keep calling me_

Joy Division – _Dead Souls_

Rey didn’t know where to go. At their table, Han Solo and Maz Kanata were wrapped up in a conversation that somehow turned around Han Solo’s dead child, if she wasn’t mistaken. At any rate, she found it wasn’t her place to eavesdrop if she didn’t have to. She had a feeling as if the other guests were watching her, but whenever she looked, she found them avoiding her gaze. And Finn – Finn was gone. But even if he hadn’t been, she was in no mood to talk to him at present. To lie to her, and then somehow make out it was her own fault!

Out of nowhere, she perceived a yell, loud, shrill. A child. But once more, she found all the other customers pretending to be deaf. Why, even Han Solo was so lost in his own worries, he didn’t bat an eye.

‘NOOO!’ Let me go!

There it was again! It came from there… She went into a side corridor and down a flight of stairs, ending up in front of a massive door. The kid was in there, she was sure, so she pushed against the door without really expecting it to open. But open it did. The room beyond was a kind of storeroom, only lit by the lights streaming in from the already dim corridor. But she thought she recognised boxes, broken furniture, a huge chrome chandelier that would have fetched at least two portions back in Niima Outpost…

“Hello?” she called, but not too loudly. Who knew what was lurking inside here? Nevertheless, she had to help that child. “Hello, can you hear me? Is there anyone?”

Slowly, she stepped further into the room, her eyes fixed onto a wooden chest. She knew in her bones that the child must be inside, but was uncertain whether someone had locked it up or if it had tried to hide there.

“Don’t be scared,” she said with a firm voice, trying to calm the child as much as herself. “I’m going to open the lid now.”

But the chest was empty. Well, almost. The only thing inside was a metal cylinder, a little longer than her hand and perhaps three centimetres in diameter.

Curious, she reached out and picked it up.

In the very moment when her hand made contact, whatever little light there was in the room went out and she heard a heavy _thud_. Neon lights flickered into existence, outlining a trapezoid-shaped, dark corridor. At its end, she saw two men, pointing glowing swords at each other. Then the corridor collapsed and she was lying on some muddy surface. In the distance, a huge building was ablaze. In the foreground, she saw a hooded figure kneeling on the ground, sobbing over what looked like the body of a boy. She tried to get up in order to go over and see if she could help them, but once she had gotten to her feet, her surroundings had once more changed. Water was pouring down on her, it took her a moment to grasp that this must be rain – she’d dreamt of rain, but never actually seen any… There was a group of masked people, and though she couldn’t be sure because of the visors, she thought one of them – the tallest in the middle – was looking straight at her. There was something unsettlingly familiar about that image. Like the rain before, it gave her the idea that she knew who this was, if only she could remember the name... Another shape came towards her from the side, some kind of soldier wielding a blaster, but before she could decide who he was aiming at, the tall man had whipped out a blade of fiery, snarling red light and speared the soldier with it.

In shock, Rey ducked away, only to find herself in the desert. This time, she saw the child at last, a small girl of perhaps four, crying heartbreakingly.

“No! Come back!” she screamed.

“Quiet, fry,” a well-known voice grunted, and only then Rey realised that the creature yanking on the kid’s arm was Unkar Plutt.

“Let me go! Let me go!!!”

He rolled his eyes and dragged her behind like a broken doll.

‘Is that – me?’ Rey wondered, but before she could even contemplate the answer, the bright hot desert sun vanished and instead she was standing in a – forest? Yes, a forest. The snow was covered in cold, white stuff that might or might not have been snow, but again, there was no time for pondering that question because the man with the mask appeared out of the blue before her, his sizzling sword in hand and ready to strike. She got such a fright, she fell on her behind and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again though because nothing happened, she was back in the storeroom in Maz Kanata’s castle, still holding that cursed metal cylinder in her hand.

Speaking of the old pirate – she was hurrying down the corridor towards Rey.

“I know I shouldn’t have gone in there,” she blurted out, trying to bite back tears she couldn’t explain even to herself.

“That lightsabre was Luke’s,” Maz said, apropos of nothing. Or… Rey cast a confused look at the cylinder. This was a lightsabre?! _That’s_ what they did?! “And his father’s before him. And now – it calls to you!”

“It called – but not for me. I must get back home to Jakku.”

Maz nodded. “Han told me. Dear child…” She reached out for Rey’s free hand, and out of courtesy, Rey sank to her knees to be at approximately the same level as the old lady. “I see your eyes. You already know the truth. Whoever you’re waiting for on Jakku – they’re never coming back.”

No longer could she suppress the tears. She tried pulling her hand away, but for such a tiny old lady, Maz Kanata had surprisingly much strength and didn’t let her go.

“But there’s someone who still could,” she added mysteriously.

Rey frowned. “Luke…?”

“The belonging you seek is not behind you, it is ahead.”

“I don’t understand… Are you – are you a Jedi?”

Maz smiled. “No. But I know the Force. It moves through and surrounds every living thing. Close your eyes. Feel it. The light – it’s always been there. It will guide you.”

Rey merely goggled at her. She had no clue what the old woman wanted from her. But the mention of the Force made her even more uncomfortable than the thinly veiled hints at her parents.

“The sabre. Take it.”

 _Oh!_ This time, Rey managed to pull her hand free and jumped to her feet. “I’m never touching that thing again!”

“But –”

“I don’t want any part in this!”

x X x

 **3.6. Presence of Mind:** on the planet Takodana, ABY 30/06/01, 04:25 GST

_By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune —_  
_Now my dear lady — hath mine enemies_  
_Brought to this shore; and by my prescience_  
_I find my zenith doth depend upon_  
_A most auspicious star, whose influence_  
_If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes_  
_Will ever after droop._

Prospero – _The Tempest_

“Sir, planetfall in T minus one minute.”

Still reeling from the aftereffects rippling through the Force, Kylo drew himself up and away from the window, out of which he had been staring for the last few minutes without seeing anything. The image of Hosnian Prime blowing up was burnt into his retinas and played over and over again in his head.

“I want that droid, Major. Nothing else really matters,” he said quietly.

“Yes, sir.”

“Just so we understand each other. No carpet bombings, no ion explosives. If that hard drive is damaged, I will hold _you_ directly responsible and so will the Supreme Leader.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer repeated, a little tremble to his voice now.

Landing on Takodana didn’t do anything to lighten Kylo’s mood. Takodana! Maz Kanata! Good heavens. He remembered the old pirate and her ‘watering hole’, as Han Solo had insisted to call the taverna, from _way_ back. He had loved the place then; now he returned to see it destroyed. This entire day was nothing if not a disaster and though that seemed impossible, it could only get worse.

When he dismounted the transporter, he was hit by a presence through the Force, much like had happened on Jakku but harder, and grinded his teeth. He had already known his father was here, but he wouldn’t have fathomed how strongly his presence would register; it was almost tangible, as if Han had suddenly tapped into the Force itself. And if they met, he’d have to kill him. _If_ they met.

He looked for the _Nightcrawler_. There it was, and there were the Knights of Ren. He drew some solace from their presence. Squaring his shoulders, he saw them approach and, as was their habit, each of them rapped their breastplate with their left fist for a greeting and bellowed, “Master!”

“Yes, yes. You know the drill. Get me that droid in one piece. No disintegration, you hear me?”

“Master!” they repeated and pummelled their chests once more. It was a kind of joke about which he might have chuckled under different circumstances, but between his only chance to find Skywalker and the risk of running into his father, he was woefully out of humour.

“I’m serious! Also – does any of you happen to have a shellava?”

Barius peered out of his hood with a mystified look; Ushar opened his visor a little. “A – shellava?” he asked.

“Is that a code or something?”

Kylo gave himself a little shake. “Never mind. Can you feel it, too? The strange presence in the Force?”

Nico and Soven nodded, the other four shook their heads. Of course, Nico and Soven knew Han Solo.

They turned to enter the actual battle raging behind them, but Kylo hadn’t gotten far when he was approached by a Stormtrooper.

“Sir! The droid was spotted heading west. With a girl.”

And yet, and yet, the entire battalion was _here_ , scuffling with pirates! Kylo rolled his eyes. “You stay here, maybe it’s just a ploy,” he instructed the Knights of Ren. He wouldn’t deprive them of the pleasure of a good old fight. He on the other hand once more turned on his heels to march right out of the battle and into the woods, instead of seeking, and finding, (and killing,) Han Solo.

Or maybe he was mistaken in this regard, because the further he walked, the stronger he felt that certain presence through the Force. He had trekked through the trees for half a kilometre when he finally discarded the notion that this was caused by his father. He could tell if his parents were close because they were his parents, but Han Solo had no own connection to the Force. What had the soldier said? _With a girl?_

Maybe he had gotten it wrong… Maybe it wasn’t the Stormtrooper whose awakening to the Force he had sensed… Hadn’t Mitaka spoken of a girl accompanying the deserter and the darned droid? That girl in the woods must be _the girl_ , the person whose Force-awakening he had felt, whose advent the Force had foreshadowed to him if only he had been smart enough to comprehend. And she had fled once again with the droid that carried the map to Skywalker. Well, if the child had only come into her powers within the last thirty-six hours, she was unlikely to know that he could sense her, and she might be feeling his presence without understanding what it meant, too. Excellent! This was going to be so much easier than he’d figured.

He tuned into the Force to locate her. Shellavas and chimes and sparkling water indeed!

x X x

 **3.7. Meet Destiny:** on the planet Takodana, ABY 30/06/01, 04:29 GST

_When I had journeyed half of our life's way,_  
_I found myself within a shadowed forest,_  
_for I had lost the path that does not stray._

Dante Alighieri – _The Divine Comedy_

He had calmly followed her trail in the Force for another half kilometre perhaps when he was greeted by blaster shots fired by a girl – and it took him a moment to process that _this_ girl in her late teens or early twenties must be identical with _the girl_ , which for some reason he had pictured to be about four or five. He deflected the shots with his hands and blade but she simply wouldn’t stop, gaping at him as if she was attacked by a Silan, until he had no other choice but to freeze her.

“The girl I’ve heard so much about,” he murmured incredulously, trying to square his expectations with reality. So the girl helping the droid escape from Jakku – that ‘irrelevant civilian’ that Hux and his useless goons hadn’t thought worthy of closer attention – was identical with the kid whose awakening to the Force had been so powerful he had felt it across lightyears. But she was much too old for that, wasn’t she? On the other hand, his own uncle, the supposedly mightiest, at any rate only, Jedi left in the galaxy, had got the calling when he was _nineteen_. Kylo had always doubted that claim, but maybe it had been true after all?

He surveyed her closely, wondering why she seemed so familiar. She was of medium height and slender, athletic built, dark-haired and fair-skinned with large hazel eyes made even larger by panic. Scanning his memory, he found he couldn’t place her at all; then again, he had felt similar about damned Dameron, and that explanation had been simple enough.

_Don’t get distracted, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is finding Skywalker!_

He tore himself away and walked past her. “The droid – where is it?” he asked and ignited his sword once more, holding it close to her throat for a moment, then felt like a jerk and put it away again. The kid was frightened out of her wits already, there was no call to make it worse.

“I don’t know,” she replied pathetically.

“You’re lying.”

“No! I – I don’t even know what you’re talking about! You must be mistaking me.”

He walked back around her and once more contemplated her face in puzzlement. He was sure he knew her from somewhere. “I don’t think so. How many girls from Jakku do you think are in this forest?”

“J-jakku? You _are_ mistaking me, I – I’ve never been to Jakku – _that_ old junkyard –”

He couldn’t help it, he had to laugh. “Kid, there’s sand trickling off your clothes still. It’s in the stitches of your boots and under your fingernails.”

“There’s lots of sand in the galaxy,” she replied bravely.

He rummaged through his recollections and found Mitaka’s memory of the interrogation of a witness from Jakku. “Your name is Rey. Just Rey, no surname, and you fled from Jakku on board of the _Millennium Falcon_ less than thirty-six hours ago. See, there’s really no point in you trying to lie, or playing the dumbbell. Tell me where that droid is, and I’ll let you go.”

She hesitated for a second, and he could already tell she was going to lie again; dishonesty wafted off her like flies off a carcass that suddenly started to move. “I sent it further west,” she said very earnestly, visibly trying to sell him this falsehood best way she knew how.

He sighed. So it was back to the old favourite – simple extraction. Why mess around, after all?

Without a clue what was happening to her, she didn’t put up the least resistance, and he could easily trace the droid, until coming across a recollection of it projecting a star chart – good heavens –

“The map – you’ve seen it!”

While he was still staring at the girl in happy disbelief, he was interrupted by a Stormtrooper squad leader jogging towards him and reporting, “Sir, Resistance fighters! We need more troops.”

Well, that was an undeservedly lucky break. He might not have the map, but he had someone who had seen it, which was almost as well, and aborting the mission now had the additional advantage that he wouldn’t accidentally run into Han Solo either.

“Pull the division out. Forget the droid, we have what we need.”

He went back to the still petrified girl, waved his hand before her face and caught her as she was going out like a light.

x X x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story so far, I'd be very happy if you left a review. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

**4\. Torn .|. Rejoined**

_The beautiful minds recognize each other._

Toba Beta – _Betelgeuse Incident: Insiden Bait Al-Jauza_

x X x

 **4.1. Open Wounds:** on the planet Takodana, ABY 30/06/01, 05:46 GST

_A man does not recover from such a devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not._

Captain Wentworth – _Persuasion_

Han wasn’t the self-congratulatory type, still he felt tempted to clap himself on the shoulder for getting by on sheer dumb luck. As far as he could tell, it had been a close shave, but they all seemed to have gotten out of this pickle relatively unscathed. There was Chewie – there was Maz – over there was the boy, and the girl had run off into the woods with the droid. They hadn’t bombed the woods and he had given her a blaster, too – she’d be fine. He’d put her and the droid onto one of the Resistance ships swarming around and that would be that.

Of course, reality called his bluff just then. A black and white shape at the very edge of his vision made him turn his head, only to realise it was – _he!_ – and he was cradling the girl Rey like a sleeping child in his arms, carrying her off and on board of a First Order transporter. The sight took his breath. It _couldn’t_ be… The last time he’d seen him… _Really_ seen him, with his own eyes, not just in a holo…

In the same moment, he caught the sound of another transport, this one landing, and he needn’t even look to know that this little family reunion, for a split second at least, was complete. On automatic, he made his way towards the landing ship, pushing past the yelling boy, only vaguely noticing what it was he was saying.

“ _They took Rey!_ ”

“I know,” he mumbled and had half a mind to add, ‘It’s alright, he couldn’t hurt a fly’ before realising his own delusions and biting his tongue. He had never felt more torn. Having seen – _him_ – and about to see Leia, he was half filled with elation, half with bottomless dread. But if there was one advantage to becoming old, it must be to have learnt that one could never run away from one’s problems (the last years had finally taught him _that_ lesson, and how cruelly). One of the two he loved most dearly in this life or any other was gone. Forever. There was nothing he could do about that. But he could still do right by the other.

The transport lowered its exit gangway and there she stood. The last years hadn’t been kind to her either; her hair had turned grey, there was a pinched quality about her mouth and an air of parchment about her skin. Even her eyes had lost most of their erstwhile brilliance. Then she spotted him and her entire being transformed.

Whether she knew it or not, she stood straighter, making her two inches taller if that was enough, she raised her chin, smirked knowingly and turned on a kind of light in her gaze. It was like seeing her through a not very clean windowpane, but unmistakably Leia.

“New hairdo?” he gabbled.

She gave him a wry smile. “Same hairdo. I see you are also still wearing that same old jacket.”

“No! New jacket!” He racked his brains for something, _anything_ appropriate to say. Even something not entirely trite would suffice for now. Luckily, Chewie stepped forth and enfolded her in a hug, giving his friend another moment to collect himself.

But why make bones about it? There was one thing – one person! – connecting them and dividing them at once.

“Leia, I saw him,” he whispered, seeing her smile faint, steeling himself to go on nevertheless. “I saw our son.”

x X x

 **4.2. Victorious:** in the Resistance headquarters on the planet D’Qar, ABY 30/06/01, 13:35 GST

_The pain of parting is nothing to the joy of meeting again._

Charles Dickens – _The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby_

He took three victory laps over the tarmac before landing, carried by the cheering crowds. Not only had they for once beaten the First Order at its own nefarious game, not only had Poe personally shot down nine enemy fighters – most importantly, they had recovered BB-8 safe and unharmed. The road to Luke Skywalker was clear. Poe had never been prouder of his little friend.

He was even more chuffed when said friend was the first to greet him, beeping frantically and showering him with jubilations, congratulations, its relief to see Poe alive and well, and one or two reproves for abandoning him.

Poe laughed and rubbed the droid’s belly. BB-8 could never withstand the magic of the belly-rub.

BB-8 continued his happy beeping, informing his master how he’d made it off Jakku in the first place.

“Finn?” Poe exclaimed, delighted and followed the droid’s outstretched tongs. No shit! There he was, standing on the tarmac, looking over to them. Poe jumped to his feet and sprinted towards his rescuer and embraced him furiously.

“You’re alive!” Finn cried and patted him on the shoulder so hard he almost knocked the air out of him.

“So are you! Gosh, I thought you were dead!”

“But I saw the TIE explode!”

“I got thrown from the crash, woke up at night – no you, no ship, nothing… But BB-8 tells me you found him and saved him.”

“Well, he rather found me.” He pulled on the jacket he was wearing; only now Poe realised that it was his own. “Here, this belongs to you.”

“Keep it. It suits you.” The young man looked bashful, and Poe exclaimed, “You completed my mission, Finn! A jacket is the least I can give you as a reward.”

“Actually… There may be something you _could_ do…”

“Yes! Anything!”

“Can you help me talk to your superior? General Organa, I mean? My friend – she helped rescue your droid – and she was kidnapped by – by Kylo Ren.”

“Sure! Come on!”

x X x

_**4.3. Raison Être:** on the planet D’Qar, ABY 28/01/23_

_The leader of the enterprise a woman._

Virgil – _Æneid_

Leia had been raised to do her duty, so she was suffering from severe pangs of conscience to have dropped the ball that hard in the last years. Over the search for Ben, she had increasingly neglected her work in the Senate. It had come as a big shock to her when, reviewing the evidence, she had realised that all those attacks, all those disappearances, planets that apparently spontaneously declared they wanted to leave the Republic, were by no means coincidental. The pattern was so painfully obvious – why had nobody else sounded the alarm?

She had got in touch with her contacts all over the galaxy and found that maybe a dozen had come to similar conclusions like she. Some had even tried to alert the Senate, but had never gotten far. It reminded her of the beginnings of the last war – there were voices of dissent, but they needed a radio beacon to spread information and rally around. And who was better suited for the job than she? She already knew everybody and their brother, she had reliable contacts in the Senate, and even after it had become public knowledge that her biological father was none other than Darth Vader, she was still enough of a war heroine for a lot of people to trust her.

At first, it was only an occasional talk here and there, until she realised that the thing most direly missing was organisation. So she had set up a small, unofficial office. The office was soon too small, the task too enormous, and because she was aware that there must be First Order plants even within the Senate, she had looked for an even more clandestine – and peculiarly more official – place. She had found it in an abandoned spaceport on the planet D’Qar. Fifty years ago, the planet had still been going strong, then its natural resources had run dry, and the only people remaining had been those who couldn’t afford getting away. But those lived nowhere near the extensive jungle, which had claimed most of the base in the interim. Bringing that one back up to speed took lots of work and effort; it also allowed her to take her mind off the disaster she had for a private life.

Han had always had the proclivity to take off and be gone for a month or two, even when they had been newly married. Once Ben had been off to stay with Luke, he had had even less reason to come home, and his absences had become longer and longer. Then they had lost Ben, and his stays had become shorter as well. After a couple of years, he had just showed up now and then, stayed a week and left again for four months or more. At that point, she had decided to cut her losses.

She simply had to face the facts. She had lost Ben, somehow, she had also managed to lose his father. Not to mention Luke, whom she had literally chased away. She didn’t regret the latter, at least not during the day. Lying in bed at night was a different matter. She missed her brother. In the past years, she had even come around to at least be able to see his point of view. But that didn’t mean she’d ever forgive him for failing her son.

x X x

 **4.4. We’ll See:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 15:00 GST

_There’s nothing as significant as a human face. Nor as eloquent. We can never really know another person, except by our first glance at him. Because, in that glance, we know everything. Even though we're not always wise enough to unravel the knowledge._

Ellsworth Toohey – _The Fountainhead_

For a moment or two she was disoriented. The last she recalled was a forest, a black monster. Remnants of some nightmare perhaps. But this wasn’t home, this wasn’t her bunk in her walker. It was a roomy, brightly lit cell. Only now she realised she couldn’t move; her hands didn’t obey her. – They were tied down. – Why were they tied down? – _She_ was tied down, she realised with heart-stopping terror. Then she noticed the presence of the actual monster. This was no incomprehensible nightmare, no garbled vision out of hell, this was the brute from the forest. This was _real_.

“Where am I?” she asked and cursed herself for sounding so meek.

“You’re my guest,” he replied in a wildly inappropriate, upbeat manner. Maybe this was a simple nightmare after all.

She stared straight onto the empty grimace of that ghastly helmet. “Where are the others?”

“You mean the murderers, traitors and thieves you call ‘friends’? You’ll be relieved to hear I have no idea.”

Who was this guy calling a murderer?! She remembered the vision she’d had of him, how easily he had stabbed some random bloke. She remembered what he’d done to her in the forest, and for a moment, her outrage outweighed her fear of him.

“You still want to kill me,” he said as if he could read her mind. Given what had happened in the woods, he probably could!

But if she had to go down, she’d do so with flying colours. “That happens when you’re being hunted by a creature in a mask!”

There was a moment of silence. Rey braced herself for the inevitable retribution, but when he did move, his hands went to the sides of his mask and worked some hidden mechanism.

In a nightmare, the monster would have taken off its helmet and revealed something yet more horrible underneath. Something gross with much too many teeth, and fangs, and no eyes, or dead eyes, or more eyes than the usual two. But contrary to her assumptions, no ghoulish visage appeared, just the very normal head of a young man not much older than her, if at all. He had a pale oval face, full lips, a long nose and a shock of wavy black hair. Most striking though were the man’s eyes. They were as black as everything else about him, and anything but dead. She gaped, trying to square her expectations with the facts as they presented themselves. That was the vision that had scared her witless?! Why, Unkar Plutt looked scarier than this mere boy! Any Teedo looked more threatening!

He got up with one lithe move and strolled towards her. She could scarcely keep herself from goggling at him in spite of the risk. One of the first rules a kid learnt in Niima Outpost was that staring at people was a sure way to make them lash out at you. Sometimes, a mere stray look sufficed. And this boy might be less intimidating than she had imagined, but that didn’t change the fact that she was tied to a chair and he could assault her without any chance of her defending herself.

“Tell me about the droid,” he said. His voice was different, too, without the helmet. Not quite as deep, not at all gravelly. Under different circumstances, she might even have called it friendly.

She feigned ignorance, but he wouldn’t have it. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter. There’s still the defector, maybe he’ll be easier to talk to –”

Finn! Oh no! That’s what he had run away from, he had barely managed it. How lucky he hadn’t told her where exactly those smugglers were going. This guy might have picked the destination from her brains! And speaking of things he had already picked anyway –

“He’s a BB-unit with a selenium drive and a thermal hyperscan vindicator –” she gabbled, hoping against hope that this might be enough, that she could distract him from Finn and play for time… But once again, he was having none of it.

“– who’s carrying a section of a navigational chart. We have the rest, recovered from the archives of the Empire, but we need the other half, and somehow you convinced the droid to show it to you. _You_ , a scavenger.”

She’d never minded being a scavenger – well, she had, because it was exhausting and dangerous with only little reward. But the disbelieving way he said it made it sound really base. She was astounded how much she felt hurt by this remark; tears were welling in her eyes. Furiously, she bit them back.

If he’d seen them, he didn’t press the advantage. Or maybe he did. “Come on, kid. Why are you making it so hard for yourself? You’ve known these people for two days. You don’t owe them anything.” She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away from him as far as she could. “You know I can take whatever I want.”

Rey recoiled. So many years she had successfully warded off any attempted rape. Now she was tied down, her staff stood in the corner ten feet away and there was nothing she could do about it.

But when the assault came, it wasn’t at all what she had dreaded. He didn’t touch her, he just bent towards her and reached out his hand. She thought he would force a kiss on her and averted her face, but he only murmured, “You’re so lonely.”

Oh, _that_ old spiel?! Think of your happy place! He can’t get to you there. He can’t harm you if you’re not even here…

But then he went on, “So afraid to leave,” and that really threw her. How did he know that?

“At night, desperate to sleep, you imagine an ocean. I see it. I see the island.”

Rey saw it too. Her little island, her shelter, her happy place. A pleasant spot under a mild sun. Some green grass even, here and there. And even if he had discovered it, it still gave her strength. She would get through this, like she’d gotten through everything else. And then she’d go home and wait for her parents. Perhaps, now and then, she could job for –

“And Han Solo… You feel like he’s the father you never had.” How the hell would he know _that?!_ “He would have disappointed you.”

“Get out of my head!”

As if only just now realising how disturbing this was, he backed off. “Look, the more you struggle, the more this is going to hurt. If you just relax, we can finish this in a matter of seconds, and you’ll not feel anything.”

The room’s blue light rendered him even paler, his eyes gleaming black. The visor was frightening, but somehow, feeling these black eyes drilling into hers was even more alarming. His eyes, his words and, hang it, reality, were having three different conversations with her at once. And she didn’t know how to respond to any of them, let alone all three.

“I know you’ve seen the map. It’s in there. And now you’ll give it to me.”

He reached out with his hands once more without touching her, and she suddenly felt a strong pull on her head, straining her neck painfully. Also, there was that strange feeling of something soft and woolly wrapping around her. It was weird and ticklish. Then there was a sensation as if someone had opened a door in her head with a strong gale blowing through. She thought she could smell salt water (it threw her why she would even know what that might smell like, she’d only read about it). And hear the clashing of waves, the drip drip drip of rain (talking of things she’d never ever seen, or heard!). Glittering stars in a velvety night sky. A sweet and sour taste in her mouth, cool, juicy, tingling.

“Don’t be afraid. I feel it, too.”

Did he?! She strongly doubted it! Straining to get away, she gasped, “I’m not giving you anything.”

“We’ll see,” he replied perfectly confident.

The pull to the open door was so strong, she couldn’t resist it however much she tried. Like gravity – flail your arms all you want, but that won’t make you fly. You’re falling, and soon, you’ll hit the ground.

And the ground does hit her, but instead of killing her or disabling her or just hurting her, it morphs into a sand sleigh ride, tripping in water, a barrel roll all at once, and she does feel fear as she’s whirling around, but bizarrely, it is definitely not her own. It takes her a moment to realise, but then she knows she’s in _his_ head and takes an awed look around – incredibly fast, incredibly brief impressions swish past her, through her, but one is constant and ever-growing in overwhelming urgency –

“ _You_ …” she wheezes, trying to put into words what she can sense so clearly. “You’re _afraid_ … That you will never be as strong as – _Darth Vader!_ ”

With the expression of a man accidentally rousing a Black Vipera, he recoils and the connection snaps with a booming, if inaudible, smack, and for a second or two they stare at each other in perfect disbelief at what has just happened.

x X x

 **4.5. It’s A Killer:** in the Resistance headquarters on the planet D’Qar, ABY 30/06/01, 15:12 GST

_She told no one what she saw, not even her sister._

Virgil – _Æneid_

Rose had only swiftly joined the jubilant crowds welcoming the glorious victors of Takodana. In fact, she had waited only long enough to hug Pearl and see for herself that her sister was safe and sound, clapped half a dozen times for her other personal hero, Poe Dameron, and rushed back inside to get on with her work. She felt pangs of conscience for abandoning it even for five minutes.

The destruction of the Hosnian system had devasted her more than most of the others. Because none of them had any reason to feel responsible. But Rose did feel exactly that. The description of what had happened had unsettled her; there had been something in her head tugging on her memories, but she hadn’t been able to figure it out. Then the news of that deserting Stormtrooper had trickled down to the engineers, and his account of ‘Starkiller Base’, and it had hit her. She had seen that monster once before. Or rather: she had seen plans. Back then, she’d dismissed them as nonsense and never mentioned them to anybody. Nobody would have believed her anyhow.

If only she hadn’t been so cowardly! Perhaps they could have prevented this terrible tragedy if they had known what she knew.

“Don’t talk such rot,” Pearl reprimanded her when Rose confided in her. “You just said yourself, it would never have worked.”

“But I was wrong! It did work!”

“You don’t know that.”

“You know what happened to Hosnia! You heard what the deserter said. About that base.”

“Yes. And I rely on you clever folks to figure out a way to blow it up.”

So that was what Rose did feverishly. She tried to recall what she had seen then, what details had struck her as particularly unlikely or fantastic. Those novelties should be those most sensitive to error or damage. She thought the runaway Stormtrooper might give her more info, but of course, she didn’t dare talking to him, so she begged Kaydel, or Pearl, or even Commander D’Acy, to do it for her, but they all shook their heads and declared she really ought to do it herself, because they wouldn’t even know how to ask the right questions, or spot the importance of any given answer and maybe pass it on wrongly.

In the end, Pearl took her by the hand and dragged her to Poe Dameron. “Poe? Surely you remember my sister, Rose.”

“But of course!”

All the same, Rose kneaded her hands, unable to look their most valorous hero in the face.

“Rose thinks she may figure out a weakness in that base,” Pearl went on relentlessly. “For that, she’ll need to talk to that Stormtrooper. Can you please introduce her?”

“Sure! C’mon, kid!”

He gently steered her to the room where the young man was debriefed and briefly explained their purpose to the four other officers present.

“That is very commendable, Commander Dameron,” one of them said. “But can’t it wait?”

“I don’t think so, Ma’am. We know they have that unimaginably destructive weapon. Who can tell when they’ll use it again? Or on whom? The lives of _billions_ are at stake, Admiral Nabock!”

Rose saw the withering scowl the admiral cast him and vicariously shrank away. She even pulled on Poe’s sleeve to indicate a speedy retreat, but he didn’t budge one centimetre.

“What do you think it is we’re doing, just now?” Nabock snarled.

“With all due respect, Ma’am, at this junction I don’t think our most pressing questions are of a military nature. I believe Finn ought to talk to an engineer first.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and to her utter incredulity Rose saw four of their most important officers get up and leave the room only so she – _she!_ – could have a word with the eyewitness.

Poe pulled her forwards and urged her to take the seat on which, thirty seconds ago, Vice Admiral Holdo had still been sitting. “Finn, this is Rose. She’s one of our best engineers –”

Rose opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything, the young man stretched out his hand. “Hi. I’m Finn.”

“I know,” she whispered, hoping a hole in the ground would swallow her.

“What do you want to know?”

That was far firmer territory. She produced her clipboard and a pen. “There must be an oscillator, right? I need to know _everything_ you can tell me about that oscillator.”

x X x

_**4.6. Like Being Dead:** in the desert on the planet Jakku, ABY 27/08/05_

_Children begin by loving their parents. After a time they judge them. Rarely, if ever, do they forgive them._

Oscar Wilde – _A Woman of No Importance_

The little pilot has allowed her to take his seat. She tries to copy his manoeuvres and fly as wildly as he does, he applauds and cheers her on.

They land on a planet full of water, beautiful, clear water, lots of it wherever the eye turns. There is another spaceship. She instantly knows this small freighter, more importantly: she knows its passengers. She runs out, and there they are, embracing her, caressing her, kissing her. She’s so happy, she’s never ever been so happy!

_Where have you been?_

_We were on a very secret mission, sweetheart._

_So long?_

_We had to pretend we were dead._

Of course, that was the explanation.

Just that…

 _You didn’t have to pretend from_ me!

_Oh sweetheart…_

_I’ve been waiting for you! I missed you! I was all by myself! You could have come back to me and hidden on Jakku! Living on Jakku_ is _like being dead!_

She was sitting in her bunk. Inexplicably angry. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She must have had a nightmare, even though she couldn’t remember anything except she’d been flying. She rubbed her eyes. A look outside showed Megga I standing over the second of the Fallen Teeth. In other words, the sun wasn’t going to rise for another five hours.

For some inexplicable reason, she was scared of going back to sleep, so she got up, wrapped herself in her warm cloak, shouldered her quarter staff and set off in the silvery light of Megga I towards the Graveyard of Giants.

Maybe she’d start learning Neimoidian tonight.

x X x

 **4.7. Bested:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 15:14 GST

_So ran the speech. Burdened and sick at heart,_  
_He feigned hope in his look, and inwardly_  
_Contained his anguish._

Virgil – _Æneid_

No no no no no… This didn’t just happen. It _can’t_ be. Awakening to the Force or not, he cannot _possibly_ have been bested by a scavenger from the end of the galaxy who didn’t even know she has it in her. Well, now she knows!

That’s what it feels like to have someone get into your head? So why are people always making such a terrible fuss and scream their lungs out? It didn’t hurt – well, the act in itself didn’t. The _humiliation_ is a different matter.

He all but runs straight to the hall housing the hologram facilities to connect to the master, almost forgetting to put his mask back on. The Supreme Leader mustn’t see him like this. On a second thought, it might be better not to mention he ever took it off to begin with. He isn’t exactly patient when it comes to failure.

The story in itself is short enough, it takes him less than three minutes to report. He’s even glad for the kneeling pose, eyes on the ground, that under different circumstances he so often resents. Today, it offers him the possibility to hide away as good as he can while still fulfilling his duties to his master.

“The scavenger – beat _you?!_ ” Snoke booms.

“She’s strong with the Force. Untrained, but much stronger than she knows.”

He hears the door behind him opening and gets to his feet. He’s willing to kneel before his master, but on no account will he kneel in the presence of one of those jerks. The newcomer turns out to be Hux, the worst of the accursed lot.

“What about the droid?” the master asks, and just before Kylo can answer, Hux has already cut in.

“Ren believed it was no longer valuable to us.” He sneers malevolently. “That the girl was all we needed. As a result, the droid has most likely been returned to the hands of the enemy. They may have the map already.”

Kylo stares straight ahead, lest he loses control and accidentally strangles Hux right in front of the Supreme Leader.

“Then the Resistance must be destroyed before they get to Skywalker,” the master replies.

“We have their location.” Kylo gives his all not to show any kind of reaction to that bit of news. “We traced their reconnaissance ship back to the Illeenium system.”

“Good. Then we will crush them once and for all. Prepare the weapon.”

“Supreme Master, I can get the map from the girl,” Kylo says before thinking twice. He cannot stand by and watch a second star system destroyed in less than one day! “I just need your guidance.”

Instead of an answer, the Supreme Master sends Hux away to oversee the preparations, then changes the topic altogether. “If what you say about this girl is true, bring her to me at once.”

“Yes, master,” Kylo replies quietly and not a little shocked. He hasn’t even thought of that. The poor kid! He’s seen his master interrogating people, it’s almost as gruesome as when he tortures them, even though the end is just the same. In the end, they are all dead, and begged a good deal for death before that.

“You pity her!”

Darn it!

“No! Alright – yes. She’s just – just a kid. She got into all this by accident –”

“She’s overwhelmed _you!_ Does _that_ seem accidental to you?”

x X x

 **4.8. Jedi Mind Tricks:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 15:16 GST

_Force finds a way._

Virgil – _Æneid_

For a minute or two, Rey feels nothing but triumphant to have fought back that impertinent boy so successfully, and marvelling at herself. Not for the world could she recount how she did it! And did you see his face?! Priceless! And then he ran away! From her! Ha!

That doesn’t change anything about the facts though, she soon enough remembers. She is still tied to a board heaven knows where, and he’s likely to come back any minute. And then he’ll have his revenge on her for playing that trick that she wouldn’t know how to repeat with a blaster to her head. And even if she somehow managed to wriggle out of these shackles (she tries and tries in vain), there’s still that Stormtrooper stationed at the door.

She’s well and truly dug herself a hole here that no amount of pluck will get her out of.

If only she knew how she scared him away, maybe she could do the same with the Stormtrooper?

Hang on… What did that strange elderly lady, Maz Kanata, tell her? Something about the Force… And Han Solo claimed it’s true what they say about the Force. What does she know about the Force, anyway? It’s a Jedi thing. Well, she’s certainly not that. They use it to… Move things? Sounds like the kind of trick she’d need lots of time to practise. But wasn’t there something about them using it, too, in order to control people? She sifts through her memory, trying to distinguish between what she’s heard, and what she made up herself in one of her stories.

Oh well, it can’t hurt to at least give it a try, right?

“You will remove these restraints and leave this cell with the door open.”

“What did you say?”

“You will remove these restraints and leave this cell with the door open,” she repeats, louder, and trying not to sound so desperate.

For a second, she believes it may have worked because the soldier leaves his post at the door and comes towards her.

“I’ll tighten those restraints, scavenger scum!” he spats. So much for ‘it can’t hurt’!

Nevertheless, she decides to try once more. She feels instinctively that she needs to sound more confident. How did _he_ do it, in the forest? He was all self-assuredness and aplomb.

“You will remove these restraints and leave this cell with the door open,” she says, modelling her tone on the utter smugness she feels when abusing Unkar Plutt to his face in Neimoidian.

“I will remove these restraints and leave this cell with the door open,” the Stormtrooper says, unbelievably. For a moment she wonders if he’s mocking her, but all doubts fly away when he does indeed open the shackles and marches to the door.

“And you’ll drop your weapon!” she cries after him.

“And I’ll drop my weapon.”

She hears the opening door, the clang of the weapon hitting the floor, the disappearing steps, and loses no more time. Getting up, sprinting to the exit and picking up the blaster rifle are one.

x X x

 **4.9. The Omniscient:** aboard the _Supremacy_ , ABY 30/06/01, 15:38 GST

_The workmanship excelled the materials._

Ovid – _Metamorphoses_

This child beat Kylo Ren at his own game?!

Is she… Could she be…

I’d say it’s not possible, because it would mean that foolish boy had far more mettle than I’d ever known – and there isn’t much I don’t know (ask me for the square root of 1,623,789.65 and I’ll admit defeat, but other than that…), omniscience comes with the territory of being almost a thousand years old. Of having lived the lives of twenty men, twenty men of miraculous power and acumen. Of being _the_ _Sith_.

But even I have, every other decade or so, been known to overlook some trifle. This particular trifle though! How could it have slipped by me! Why didn’t I know? How the hell did he manage it in the first place?! I _ordered_ him bespoke!

No, she _can’t_ be.

What if she is, though?

x X x

_**4.10. Split, Part One:** on the planet Shuryoo, ABY 27/06/24_

_He waits for her to sympathize_  
_But she won’t sympathize at all_  
_She waits all night to feel his kiss_  
_But always wakes alone_  
_He waits to hear her say_  
_Forget_  
_But she just hangs her head in pain_  
_And prays to hear him say_  
_No more_  
_I’ll never leave again_  
_How did we get this far apart?_  
_We used to be so close together_  
_How did we get this far apart?_  
_I thought this love would last forever_

The Cure – _Apart_

When Han had arrived at home after more than three months absence, he hadn’t been surprised that Leia wasn’t there. When she hadn’t come back two days later, he had started worrying, and bullied C-3PO until that one cracked and told him that his mistress was in her ‘other office’. It was a strange phrase, but no real surprise either. Sure! Now she needed a second office for all the work she was doing. That sounded just like her.

On the way though he started wondering why C-3PO had been so cagy, and when he saw what a shady neighbourhood she had picked, his suspiciousness rose another notch, not to mention his encounter with a security droid at the door that had almost opened fire at him. He wasn’t entirely unaccustomed to people shooting at him, but he’d be damned if he tolerated even his own wife’s servants acquiring the habit!

Leia stepped in just in time, then mutely waved him in, but not without casting some cautious looks around the hallway.

“Hey…” he greeted her.

“Why, another year over, is it? Honey, I told you to give me a call when you stay out late,” she trilled sweetly. “Now your dinner didn’t only burn to crisps, it’s been colonised by maggots since and I believe they’ve just elected a government.”

He pulled a face indicating both guilt and vague acknowledgment of the joke, something along the lines of ‘glad you’re in such good humour about it’.

Inside, he had to doublecheck that he was seeing right. The narrow room bore all the hallmarks of an office, yes, the computers, the screens, the file cabinets and dusty shutters and in one corner, the mandatory sorry succulent plant in its final throes without which no real office was complete. In addition though, it had a state-of-the-art security system including a self-destruction mechanism.

He lifted his hands in disbelief. “What the hell, Leia?”

“Want a drink?” she asked in return, but didn’t wait for an answer and prepared two incongruously clean glasses of substandard whiskey. The woman had never been a connoisseur of good spirits.

“This is where you’ve been hiding? Did you actually sleep here?!”

“Not really. I feel asleep yesterday afternoon in my chair, but only for an hour.”

“I can only repeat – what the hell? I knew you’re a workaholic, but this is extreme even for you.”

This time, she gave no answer at all. She just sipped her horrible drink and pulled a face. Only now, he realised what he had subconsciously noticed to be missing right from the start – for the first time in how many years, she hadn’t asked if he’d found Ben yet. His stomach took a turn, and he hadn’t even tried the whiskey yet.

“Who did you annoy to be condemned to such a secondary office? Or has the Senate discovered its inner spendthrift?” he tried for levity, but didn’t raise as much as a smirk.

“This isn’t Senate work. It should be – but it isn’t.”

“What is it, then?”

No answer. She swirled the liquid in her glass, watching it intently, then seemed to take heart. “Han, we need to talk.”

For a second that felt like ten thousand years, he thought he knew what she was going to say next and had to battle with an instant gag reflex. She hadn’t asked if he had found Ben because _she_ had found him – and it couldn’t be good news, or even neutral news, because otherwise she’d never have waited so long to tell him!

Consequently, he didn’t grasp what she was saying when she did speak. “This isn’t working any longer, don’t you agree?”

“What?”

“This – us… Our marriage. It hasn’t been working for a long, long time. I sometimes wonder if it ever did.”

“I… Look, Leia, I know I wasn’t always…”

She gestured impatiently and his voice ebbed away. “I’m sick of sitting here waiting, never knowing if I ever see you again –”

“I’ve always come back, haven’t I?”

She winced and closed her eyes for a moment. “That’s what Ben used to say. ‘He’ll come back, he always does.’”

“Don’t drag him into this!”

“Let’s discuss this like grown-ups, shall we? For all intents and purposes, this marriage no longer exists. I believe it is time we just own up to that simple fact.”

He experienced a slight surge of relief, and wasn’t entirely sure if this was due to the simple fact that he had reckoned with even worse tidings. “That’s how you feel?”

“Don’t you?”

“Hell, no! I love you, Leia, I’ve loved you since I first met you!”

She smiled sadly. “But what’s love got to do with it? I love you, too. If I didn’t, I might easier arrange myself with this – this… But all this hoping and waiting whether you turn up or not – I’m fed up with it.”

He opened his mouth, but she once more raised her hand. “Now don’t you start making promises that you can’t keep, or worse, that you do keep, so I can have the pleasure of living with a caged husband. You are what you are, and that’s fine. I mean it. You’re a good man, Han. You’re just not husband material. And let’s face it, I’m no wife material either. We’ve made do as long and as far as we could, but… What’s the point in dragging on?”

The horrible thing was that he couldn’t, in good conscience, raise any serious protestations. He had let her down, he knew he had. He hadn’t been there when she had needed him most, always claiming he was doing it for her, all that searching, all those long, long journeys, when in fact he had simply been running away. Feverishly looking for Ben had been so much easier than facing his loss. Now he had to see he had lost her, too.

x X x

 **4.11. Parting:** in the Resistance headquarters on the planet D’Qar, ABY 30/06/01, 16:01 GST

_the astronaut must leave_  
_the astronaut must go on_  
_will we ever_  
_meet again?_  
_one never knows for certain_  
_on the rocket launching site_  
_will I survive the next flight_  
_or will my ship go up like_  
_a ball of fire_  
_when debris rains from the skies_  
_then you’ve got to know_  
_for me you were the greatest of ’em all_  
_in some vale of stars_  
_I’ll go down as a speck of dust_  
_never meet again perhaps -_  
_kiss me one last time_  
_I’ll be gliding as star dust_  
_on the solar winds_  
_through space until I_  
_find you again_

Udo Lindenberg – _The Astronaut Must Go On_

With some apprehension, she watched Han and Chewbacca loading the _Falcon_. She’d seen the same often enough and never liked it, but this time was worse. This time felt as if she’d never see him again.

Ah, but that was surely due to the fact that they’d only just met again after a period of more than two years. She scolded herself for her sentimentality. She’d broken up with him after all, she had no more claim on him or his time. Was this regret, then? Was he right to think that seeing him was merely a reminder of all they had lost and which she didn’t allow herself to acknowledge having lost?

He struggled lifting a container of ammunition which he would easily have carried ten years ago. Or maybe fifteen. Blimey, he had gotten old. They both had. Leia would have been the first to admit that she had aged beyond her actual years; she was only forty-nine, but bore all the hallmarks of a woman in her sixties, the whitening hair, the aching joints and troubles reading without her glasses. Han on the other hand had truly gotten old; he was fifteen years her senior, but now more than ever hated owning it. He still dressed like a much younger man, he didn’t even have glasses and relied on Chewie to cover up for him. Like now, when the Wookiee called for him, ostensibly to take a look at something or other, but in fact just as a subterfuge to carry the darned box on board himself.

She strolled over, trying for ‘casual’ but not deceiving herself into believing that she could fool him. “It’s strange, you know. No matter how much we fought, I always hated watching you leave.”

He turned around with a faint smirk. “That’s why I did it. So you’d miss me.”

This was true on so many levels, she wondered if he was even aware of them all. Oh no. No. It had been hard enough to break up with him once. Why would she put herself through the same paces again?!

But the answer was simple: Because she loved him, she always had and always would, he was an irresponsible fool not at all cut out for being a husband, still there had never been any other man for her. And he made it even worse by folding her in his arms now, cupping her head and pressing her against his chest like he’d used to, she smelled his aftershave, the leather of his jacket, she felt his breath and his heartbeat and was on the verge of tears without knowing why.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he muttered and gently kissed her hair.

“Don’t… Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“Yes, but…”

“Why do you get to say it, but I shan’t?”

Contradicting herself, she hugged him even closer. “Because…”

“Because what?”

“Just because.”

He chuckled under his breath, moved his hand to her chin and made her look up to him before closing in for a kiss. She leant into that kiss avidly, like the young girl she’d been when falling in love with him, like this was the last time she’d ever kiss him, like this one kiss would have to last for forever, and he returned her kisses just as hungrily. She had never kissed any other man so she had no one to compare him with, but she imagined Han Solo was the best kisser in the galaxy. Darn it, he had practised enough. But for once, that idea didn’t irk her.

They stood like this in the middle of the airfield for a long time, for everyone to see, but that didn’t deter her either. They were at war, she was bidding her husband goodbye without any idea if he’d return. She had every right to make a spectacle of herself!

“If you see our son… Bring him home,” she said at last.

Instead of an answer, he tightened his embrace.

x X x

 **4.12. Polar Opposites:** aboard the _Supremacy_ , ABY 27/05/10

_Makes me sick when I hear all the shit that you say_  
_So much crap coming out, it must take you all day_  
_When you look at yourself do you see what I see?_  
_If you do, why the fuck are you looking at me?_

Archive – _Fuck U_

Kylo Ren was no stranger to military operations; both his parents had once been generals after all. He’d never dreamt of anything like the First Order though. The Republic’s forces seemed an almost ragtag bunch of pacifists compared to _this_ lot. Everything was in order, everything was organised down to the last tiny details, even the officers’ hair seemed made out of plastic – no matter what, not a single lock was ever out of place.

There were two types of them. Wizened veterans of the actual Empire who had somehow survived its downfall, and men and women, exclusively human, not much older (sometimes younger) than Kylo himself, with that certain gleam of unwavering determination in their steely eyes. Unrivalled among them was one Major Armitage Hux, the only – if illegitimate – child of General Brendol Hux, hero and legend of the First Order (and bogeyman of the Republic). The son struck Kylo as even worse though than he had ever imagined the old man. Everything about this guy was slick and textbook-orderly, his teal uniform looked like fashion and contrasted his copper hair as if he dyed it that shade only for this effect, his voice was controlled and snappy, he held himself as if the iron poker in his butt reached up to his head, a head entrenched in its own grandiosity and glorious purpose. Kylo _loathed_ the man, if he could be called a man – how old was he? Twenty-five? Twenty-seven, tops. Hux had once been in charge of training the younger generation of officers, which went a long way to explain why they all seemed so much like him, and had only recently been promoted to become a major, which must have added to that unbelievable swagger he managed to project.

Incidentally, Major Hux returned Kylo Ren’s instant dislike with interest. In his time, he had seen any number of pretentious little upstarts giving themselves airs, but this kid really took the cake. Upon arriving at their base and brashly demanding to see ‘Snoke’ – note: _not_ ‘the Supreme Leader’, _not_ ‘Admiral Snoke’, just ‘Snoke’ as if the two of them were old chums! – he had looked like all recent arrivals after ten weeks travelling through the Unknown Regions. Scruffy, emaciated, worn-out. That was alright. Most decidedly _not alright_ was that he had merely taken a shower and laundered his clothes, downright refusing to put on a uniform, or get a decent haircut, or even put his stuff in order. If any of the Stormtroopers were seen outside of battle with their helmets scratched and dented like Ren’s, if any officer arrogated to walk around in a tunic stitched up so unseemly or their hair in such unkempt disarray, Hux would personally have condemned them to privy-cleaning for the next _decade_. And that idiotic cape and cowl combo! It was all Hux could do to stop himself from stepping onto the rim and make that prat topple over. If Ren’s worst sins though had been his ridiculous fashion sense and attitude problems, the major would have been happy enough to ignore him. But to add insult to injury, the Supreme Leader openly favoured that pathetic youth! He was granted access to even the most secure areas (Hux had served for ten years until getting all area access!) including unlimited visitation rights with the Supreme Leader; he had been given a custom-built starfighter and permission to command a TIE-fighter squadron and Hux himself had been ordered to show him around and explain the First Order’s inner workings, and had the kid brought as much as his datapad to take notes?! He sure as hell had not. As far as Hux could tell, he had scarcely listened, and the only time he clearly had, it had been to ask impertinent questions about the sources of energy needed to power the superweapon currently under construction.

“What do you mean – _drain a star?_ ” he had asked, and even with his voice distorted through that voice changer, it had been obvious that the ignorant boy _disapproved_.

And disapprove he did. One of the few constants in his life for as long as he could think back was Kylo’s appreciation, _admiration_ , for the sacred beauty and integrity of the cosmos. You couldn’t just destroy a star – in order to destroy another star! Well, apparently you _could_ , but you _mustn’t!_ The mere idea to look up one night at the stars – only to find two of them gone because some moron in a uniform had destroyed them for the sheer sake of it!

He had even tried to talk to Snoke about this, which had slightly soothed his concerns. Starkiller Base (note the name, do!) was supposed to serve as a _deterrent_. No one would dare to oppose the First Order knowing they _could_ snuff out a planet like a candle. Of course not. It was basically like a Death Star – and the nagging thought in the back of Kylo’s head that reminded him of the fate of his mother’s homeworld Alderaan was drowned out by another, much louder and more decisive voice scolding him not to be so bloody sentimental.

x X x

 **4.13. Remember Me:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 19:33 GST

_Beware the fury of a patient man._

John Dryden – _Absalom and Achitophel_

The more he had to do with the man, the surer Finn was that General Solo was a lunatic. He had entered the atmosphere of Starkiller Base at lightspeed and nearly got them all killed. Then it had transpired that his plan for getting into the facility relied on Finn himself getting them in there, and when Finn had told him that he had no idea and that they’d have to rely on the Force, he had turned _really_ snippy.

“I can get us into the building, that’s not the problem, but that’s a far cry away from disabling the airshields –”

“Then get us inside for a start and we’ll take it one step at a time from there.” The Wookiee growled something in return and Solo gnarled, “ _You’re_ feeling cold?!”

So they had sneaked into one of the storehouses.

“What we need is someone with full access.”

Finn shook his head. “You can forget about that. There’s exactly three people with full access – General Hux, Captain Phasma and Kylo Ren. The general never goes anywhere without a squad of Stormtroopers, and overwhelming either Phasma or Ren is completely out of the question.”

“You think?”

“I _know_.”

“That Captain Phasma – is there a way to get to him?”

“Her. Phasma’s a woman.”

Solo tilted his head back and groaned. “Is this the time for hair splitting? How can we get to her?”

“We can’t attack her!”

“Why not?”

“Because – because –” Because Captain Phasma had haunted Finn’s nightmares for as long as he could remember, she wasn’t just strong, she was invincible and frankly, Finn would have preferred to kill himself straight away rather than face Phasma and be killed anyhow. But he couldn’t tell Solo _that_. “Trust me, Captain Phasma is THE stormtrooper. She cannot be beaten.”

“Tsk. Don’t be so faint of heart, kid.”

“Listen, I’m _telling_ you –”

“Get us to her, will you? I thought you wanted to help Rey.”

Whether he was aware of it or not, Solo had pushed the right button. Finn knew all the service corridors, he knew how forgetful Stormtroopers could retrieve the entry codes without any of their superiors ever getting to hear of it, he knew where the cleaning crews would be at any given time. He even knew, from experience, how Captain Phasma would react if her beeper informed her that someone had tried entering her private quarters.

As they were waiting in the hallway just around the corner for her appearance, Finn was sweating so hard that his eyes were stinging. He could only hope that Solo had some plan not involving his participation, because truth be told, he was absolutely petrified with primal fear. Maybe he should have insisted on waylaying Kylo Ren – that way, death would at least be quick and possibly painless –

Then he remembered that he was doing this for Rey. He had let her down; if he hadn’t deserted her, she might never have been kidnapped by Ren. He owed it to her to at least try and free her.

He heard Phasma’s unmistakable footsteps and the metallic clamour her armour made (which was quite distinct from the plastic sound of standard Stormtrooper issue). His heart leapt to his throat. It was now or never, although he still had no clue what he was supposed to do. Thankfully, the Wookiee was already storming forwards (surprisingly quietly, not to say inaudibly) and simply pushed the captain forwards through the just opening door to her rooms. Solo grabbed Finn’s elbow and pulled him along and three seconds later, they were standing inside Phasma’s quarters. The captain had already bounced back to her feet and brandished her command staff.

“So what’s your plan?” she sneered. “Even a Wookiee can’t crush this armour.”

“Give us your access cylinders, Captain,” Finn said in a far too squeaky voice.

She recognised him and laughed out loud. “FN-2187! You dare showing your face again? Here? To _me?!_ ”

“The name is Finn, and I’m in charge now. You hear me? I’m in charge! I’m in charge now!”

“Cool it, kid,” Solo said out of the side of his mouth.

They were standing in a kind of circle; the Wookiee and Solo pointed a Bowcaster and blaster at Phasma; she held her baton and a Sonn-Blas F-11D blaster rifle. Finn remembered only lately to raise the blaster Solo had given him.

“Mandalorian standoff –” Solo grinned. “I’ve always had a soft spot for those.”

Phasma snorted. “A Mandalorian standoff is a confrontation in which neither side can win. I hate to remind you that your blaster can’t penetrate my armour, while I can easily blow you away.”

While Finn’s stomach took another turn, Solo’s grin widened a notch yet. “I’m sorry. I forgot to mention that I’ve got an activated thermal detonator in my pocket. As soon as taking my thumb off the trigger – for example because I’ve been shot – it will go off and I’m pretty certain your shiny armour won’t help you then.”

“You’re bluffing,” Captain Phasma voiced Finn’s exact thoughts. But with the same cheerful expression, Solo took his left hand out of his pocket and produced a flashing detonator, safety pin visibly removed.

“You were saying?”

But Solo wasn’t saying anything, because Phasma had made a lightning-quick movement with her staff, knocked the detonator out of his hand and while Finn was ready to make his peace with his maker, caught it already and turned it off. One more move knocked away Solo’s and the Wookiee’s weapons, the next aimed at Finn, but without exactly knowing what he did, he took advantage of having seen her first manoeuvre. He dropped his blaster and grabbed the staff with both hands instead, pulled hard, then pushed back even harder, making Phasma lose her balance for a second. It was enough. He managed to yank free the staff and delivered half a dozen blows that should have made her proud as his former teacher. Meanwhile, Solo had jumped forth and kept her from shooting Finn, but he lost the wrestling match for the rifle with her. She aimed at Finn once more, he could barely knock the rifle sideways; then she changed her tactics and used the rifle like a melee weapon, making it clear why there wasn’t a Stormtrooper in the entire First Order who wasn’t mortally scared of her. Finn managed to land a blow so hard as to dent her helmet, then the Wookiee tackled her from the side, she toppled and crashed against the wall sideways.

She moved no more. With extreme caution, Solo and Finn stepped closer, weapons at the ready until it became obvious that she was truly unconscious.

Solo removed all code cylinders and pocketed them.

“What do we do with her now?” Finn asked, still grabbing Phasma’s baton.

Solo smiled beatifically. “Is there a garbage chute? A trash compactor?”

x X x

 **4.14. On the Horns of the Dilemma:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 19:35 GST

_Every time I turn around_  
_There’s another face watching me_  
_Every time I turn around_  
_There’s another voice calling me_  
_Every time I turn around_  
_There’s another fool reading me_  
_Every time I turn around_  
_There’s another silence drowning me_

Porcupine Tree – _And the Swallows Dance Above the Sun_

The time for games is over, little girl, and this time we’ll play by my rules, and if it hurts, you’ve only got yourself to blame! That what comes off trying to be nice, that’s what you get for pitying someone –

_So you did pity her!_

Ph!

As if things aren’t bad enough already, Kylo has yet another threat to face as he clearly senses his father nearby. He can feel him; his presence is as palpable as a very strong scent would be. It’s a balmy dark brown, like leather, it would smell of leather, too, and machine oil, a hint of whiskey and sandalwood and xobola, it would sound like the sound at the edge of your hearing in hyperspace, like a bass guitar, like ice tinkling in a glass.

This situation reminds him of one of those little bedtime stories C-3PO used to tell him when he was still very young. It was about a fathier stuck between two stacks of hay, slowly starving because he just couldn’t make up its head which one to eat. Just now, he is kind of stuck with the decision whom to pursue – the girl, with her growing awareness of the Force, or Han Solo, with his well-documented record of sabotage, not to mention any of the other sound reasons. He can’t even simply go by following orders – ‘bring the girl to me!’ clashes with ‘kill your father’.

As it stands, he decides to leave the girl alone for now – what damage can she do? Oh well, lots, obviously, but nothing compared to Han Solo, who has this dangerous penchant for blowing things up and who must know he hasn’t got much time, so whatever it is, he’ll do it soon.

“I want the vicinity of every entrance scanned for intruders,” he barks into his comlink, puzzling the Stormtroopers following him who until now were looking for someone trying to get out, not in. To their great astonishment (and adding to their awe of their superior), only half a minute later they get to hear that an unidentified ship has landed only half a kilometre away from the oscillator facility. How it got there through the tightly controlled airspace around these top security facilities is luckily someone else’s problem.

Once outside, Kylo scarcely feels the cold even though his armour isn’t made for the sub-zero temperatures of this ice waste. Maybe it’s the hot chagrin that keeps him warm, because he is well and truly furious. What did the old fool have to come here for?! Sudden paternal longing?! Does he really think he can do anything worth the risk? This is a whole _planet_ , a real one, it doesn’t come with an easily manipulated exhaust port! You could put a thermal detonator anywhere, it wouldn’t make any difference. Damn it, the blasted cannon’s design could withstand even an airstrike!

But still, he trudges on, a flock of faithful Stormtroopers in tow like ducklings. The light is already dim; if it wasn’t for all the snow reflecting what little there still is, they’d need torches – well, the soldiers would; Kylo knows where he’s going thanks to the Force. 500 metres feel like two thousand in the deep powdery snow and they advance only slowly, down another slope and through a small wood, up again, over another ridge and –

Knowing the _Falcon_ is there and actually seeing it are two very different things. The first row of Stormtroopers nearly run into their leader, so suddenly has he stopped in his tracks, and there are distinctive sounds of clanking armours behind him but Kylo hears none of that. The _Millennium_ _Falcon_ … He has loved this ship, derelict as it always has been (and still is). There’s an elegance about her clunkiness, a charm in her dirt and rust that he had no words for as a child.

_Silly nostalgia, get on with it! What are you even doing here?!_

The Stormtroopers hold their blasters at the ready, but Kylo knows Han Solo isn’t there any longer. Still, he continues his way, swiftly and without hesitation, until he finally steps on board. It’s like coming home. The same sounds, the same smells, dear lord, he’s even still got that old sticker covering the scorch mark his son made with a blowtorch – ‘Visit Balfron!’ Pensively, he heads deeper into the ship until he reaches the cockpit. He learnt to fly in that seat. There are the dice with which, self-spun yarn has it, Han Solo once won the _Falcon_ in a single game of chance. On this seat, his mother used to sit when she was on board, always reading something, always complaining that the headrest was too high because she’s so short. There’s the cupholder fashioned out of a discarded fuel pipe, the altigraph fixed with superglue, auburn hairs from Chewie’s fur on the co-pilot seat, pieces of wire lying around everywhere as if someone had just yanked them out of a console… On the _Millennium Falcon_ , nothing has changed, only the whole galaxy around it.

“Sir!”

He wakes from this reverie to the news of approaching fighters, Resistance fighters to be precise, and runs out to see a formation of X-wings taking course for the thermal oscillator. Unbelievable. What are those dunderheads in air control doing?!

_And what are you doing, eh? There’s nothing here for you, boy. Go back this instance and finish it!_

x X x

 _ **4.15. The Grandmaster:** aboard the _Supremacy _, ABY 27/04/04_

_If you learn how to rule one single man's soul, you can get the rest of mankind. It's the soul, Peter, the soul. Not whips or swords or fire or guns. That's why the Caesars, the Attilas, the Napoleons were fools and did not last. We will. The soul, Peter, is that which can't be ruled. It must be broken. Drive a wedge in, get your fingers on it—and the man is yours._

Ellsworth Toohey – _The Fountainhead_

“The leader of the Resistance has sent out sentinels to find Luke Skywalker, or so my sources tell me.”

The sentence hangs in the air like a bad smell; the boy has no clue how to respond to it. He knows his initial reaction doesn’t bear close scrutiny, his second – a remark along the lines of ‘good, let her do the work for us’ – is too short-sighted to be spoken out loud in my presence. So he does nothing and just stares ahead.

“The time has come to finish him,” I go on with deliberation. “I trust you’re looking forward to that task, my young apprentice?”

“With fervour,” he replies through clenched teeth. I’m delighted to see that even after all those years, the sheer mention of his uncle’s name still sets his pulse racing.

“And another inevitable confrontation is bound to occur soon. You know what I’m talking about?”

“It is time to vanquish the Resistance once and for all, master,” he says like an apt student, even though his heart’s not in it. He thinks he can get by on clever wording, but I can’t have that.

“Come, come, don’t be coy. Say it.”

“Master?”

“I have forbidden the use of her name, but that does not apply when you and I are among ourselves.”

“You are talking about my mother, I see. Well, that doesn’t change a thing, does it? She must perish with the rest of the Resistance.”

“Yes, she must perish. As long as she lives, others will gather around her and continue the fight. Your family has some tradition in bringing forth great leaders.”

“Master,” he whispers, abashed, hungry for approval as ever, however transparently untrue. His leadership skills are, frankly, slim to non-existent.

“I sense your uneasiness with such praise, and it does you credit. One day though, you will be a great leader, as great as your grandfather –”

“By the grace of your training, I might,” he mumbles, his eyes glued to his feet and the colour rising in his cheeks. How am I to win wars with such material?! He could be the greatest warrior of the age, but he still blushes like a bashful virgin on the eve of her wedding!

“You must know that I think of you as my own successor, my boy,” I bait him. “Look at me. I am old, I am frail. I only hope I am around long enough to see our venture come to full fruition.”

I allow some seconds for his dutiful protestations. The worst is – he’s being sincere. I don’t know what I have to do to wake that lust for power in him that came so natural to his grandfather. He’s interested in the potential, in the theory, and he enjoys fighting. But unlike his perpetual rival Hux junior, Kylo Ren doesn’t crave _actual_ power. It drives me mad, believe me.

“I know how much you yearn to fight Skywalker, yet I wish I could relieve you of that burden. He is, after all, Lord Vader’s son and has inherited much of his father’s strength. With all your skills, I still fear for you, my child. I’m afraid you’re not ready yet to face a foe of such magnitude.”

“I shall train harder, master.”

It’s not even a question of training, but of attitude. The boy has that in spades, but it’s not the right kind.

I put on my most avuncular tones, “I can sense that you haven’t yet shed all the ballast that is tethering you. Your parents…” His gaze swivels up before he’s got a grip on himself, but I pretend not to notice. “Despite everything, I can feel that you still care for them. No, no, let me finish, child. I’m sure Skywalker imparted that bit of old Jedi wisdom: You have got to train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose. Do you understand what this means? That love is your greatest weakness. It means you are not free, you are dependent. In order to reach the next stage, the stage that would allow you to beat Skywalker, you need to be free though.”

I let this sink in before going on. “Love is a feeling much like fear – they’re very similar if you think about it; love always carries an element of fear, the fear of loss namely. The Jedi were fools in most respects, but they got this one down just right. Like fear, love can be – _must be_ – overcome, otherwise it will continue to restrict you. It pains me to say it, but your parents must die, my dear boy.”

“Yes, master. I know.”

“And if at all possible, they must die by your own hands, do you see? It’s the only way to ensure you are ready to face Skywalker.”

I sense he’s registering the leap in terms of logic (at least he’s not entirely stupid, though I must say, it’d be easier if he was). No matter. Sufficient meditation on this point and some supervision through his good grandfather will fix this easily enough.

“Yes, master.”

“Like this, you can see for yourself where you stand. Either you have managed to free yourself of their influence, and killing them will mean nothing to you. Or you will free yourself _by killing them_ , and exorcise that dangerously detrimental weakness.”

“Yes, master.”

“Go now, my faithful apprentice. You have much to think about.”

I watch him get to his feet and make one more respectful bow before sauntering to the exit in measured steps. I keep up the kindly smile until I’m sure the elevator door has closed.

I’m quite the connoisseur of human folly and regard my apprentice with self-satisfaction and pride as a prime example. This man-child has in him the seeds for true greatness, the whole full set of light and dark, the innate faculty for absolute supremacy. And yet, he’ll never realise any of it. He will serve his first purpose – to vanquish my adversaries – and if he doesn’t get killed, he’ll fulfil the second just as well. He won’t even know what hit him before it’s all over.

But first, I‘ve got to nip those dangerous attachments. As it stands, he has to kill his mother, to prove he doesn’t care for her, or to free himself from his affection; it doesn’t matter, the result will be the same. And the deed will finally break him open, destroy his soul and increase his dependence on the only person left (me!), prepare him for his glorious future. Pardon me. _My_ glorious future.

During the thousand years of my life, I’ve never once lost a single game of dejarik.

x X x

 **4.16. On the Edge of the Precipice, Part One:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 21:56 GST

_Time slips away_  
_And the light begins to fade_  
_And everything is quiet now_  
_Feeling is gone_  
_And the picture disappears_  
_And everything is cold now_  
_The dream had to end_  
_The wish never came true_

The Cure – _Seventeen Seconds_

This is it.

So the moment of confrontation has finally come. Deep down, hidden like a guilty secret, he has hoped it would never happen, for he knows very well what the outcome will be. He knows what he must do, and that his opponent doesn’t stand a chance – won’t even defend himself. He hates these moments, when facing an adversary that won’t fight back. Killing someone in an open fight is one thing, killing them when they just stand there is… It is…

He shakes his head to dislodge the memory and enters the building housing the thermal oscillator. It’s the logical choice if you know the first thing about Han Solo. He has clearly already been to the main complex and disabled airspace control, now he’ll head for the top gun and try to take it out. The man has an m.o. and Kylo knows it by heart (he’s heard it often enough). The light outside is no brighter than full moon by now. Another half-hour and it will be gone completely, and then – then…

He must not think what’ll happen then.

“Find them,” he instructs the Stormtroopers at his heels, then scans the gigantic structure. He never cared much for the First Order’s proud technological marvels, this one in particular. Looking at it now, he is consumed by sheer disgust. How huge it is, how clever, how much work and thought and effort have been wasted onto this machine of cosmic death. What could have been achieved, had all the labour and resources it represents been poured into something useful!

Now this embodiment of extravagance and destruction will become the site of yet more pointless death. He knows his father is here, so close by he can taste him. If only the old man has enough sense to leave – but he won’t, Kylo knows him too well to hope for that. Han Solo is an unwilling hero by accident, he has a healthy sense for self-preservation, which is, eventually, always overruled by his love of grand-standing.

Oh, Kylo has hoped to never see this day! He knows what he ought to do, but in spite of his confident oaths, he never really believed he could pull it through, and hoped he would never have to face this test of strength.

 _You are the heir to Darth Vader, there is_ nothing _you couldn’t do._

Just before stepping onto the narrow catwalk that will take him to the other side, he halts once more and looks over his shoulder. He’s _here_ , right behind him, behind one of those pillars probably. He knows he’s watching, even if he can’t actually see him there. What he does see though is the rapidly fading light of the nameless star, sole sun of a nameless system that is going to be plunged into devastation without its light, which they’re sucking dry in order to destroy the Ileenium system. Only this morning – this morning! – they obliterated another star, another entire system; he can still feel the aftershocks. He dreads to think how much more he is going to feel this one. His mother is on D’Qar, one of those planets that, after eons of existence, aren’t going to be there anymore in an hour or so.

The thought of her takes him straight back to his hidden pursuer, which makes him advance onto the catwalk after all.

_You’re running away from him, you coward!_

Well, that’s exactly what he’s doing, he won’t deny it, couldn’t deny it from himself, or his dead ancestor admonishing him in his head. If they never meet, there won’t be a confrontation. There’s nothing he can do to save his mother, but Han Solo may still live.

“Ben!”

He’s right in the middle atop this fathomless chasm when he hears the cry and freezes for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turns to face the man whom he so dearly wished never to lay eyes on again in this life. How come, after years and years of _not_ being there, he’s got to be here just now?!

_He abandoned you. He abandoned your mother. He was never ever there._

“Han Solo,” he sighs, “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”

_Use the Force to push him off and let him fall to his death!_

The old man uneasily advances over the catwalk, then stops. “Take off that mask. You don’t need it.”

What is it with the mask today?!

“What do you think you’ll see if I do?”

“The face of my son.”

Hearing the familiar voice is compelling. What is more – he’d really like to see his father for real, not through the visor with all its technological gimmicks. So he acquiesces.

They stare at each other for a minute in wonderment. Kylo almost recoils; the man over there is much changed from the man he remembers. Obviously, he’s much older. And shorter than in his son’s memory – last time they met, Han was still slightly taller than his son. And there’s something different about his eyes, too, as if some light had gone out of them. There used to be a sparkle, now there’s only sadness.

_Because he’s old and useless, and he knows it._

Before he gets all sentimental, he snarls, “Your _son_ is gone. He was weak and foolish – like his father. So I destroyed him.”

Even Kylo can hear how petulant this sounds, how childish, how badly his voice quavers, as if he was on the verge of tears. Which, truth be told, he is. He is the greatest warrior in the galaxy, but put him in a room with his father and he regresses into a forlorn five-year-old.

“That’s what Snoke wants you to believe, but it’s not true,” Han Solo continues and comes closer. “My son is alive.”

This dialogue is straight out of one of Ushar’s beloved radio shows, too ludicrous for words yet impossible to turn off, and like an idiot, Kylo parrots the first thing coming to his mind, “No, the Supreme Leader is wise.”

_Yes, he is!_

“Snoke is using you for your power. When he gets what he wants, he’ll crush you.”

It’s not just that deep inside, Kylo knows this to be more than likely which makes him step back. It is also the intensity of his father’s gaze, the love in it, the pleasant cadences of his voice and deeply felt entreaty it carries.

“You know it’s true.”

_No, it isn’t! The Supreme Leader loves you like a son, he’s building this empire only so you can inherit it one day –_

But what would Kylo want with an empire?! As for ‘loving him like a son’ – he’s just standing in front of his father, and for all his faults, he suddenly understands his father loves him more than the master is even capable of. He can _feel_ it, even now, even after all he has done…

 _Yes! What_ have _you done! Do you think there’s any coming back from that? Do you honestly believe you’ll be forgiven? Remember Grenolaver! Remember Wobani! Remember Tuanul! You murdered every single Jedi except Luke Skywalker, and speaking of_ him _\---_

“It’s too late,” he manages to whisper, battling down the urge to throw himself into the arms of the first hero he ever had.

“No, it’s not.” He can sense his father’s sincerity, sees him taking another step forward. “Leave here with me. Come home. We miss you.”

It takes all his willpower not to break into tears. The line is as cheesy as it gets, but for all its sentimentality, it touches a chord that Kylo hasn’t felt in a long, long time. _Home_. He thought he could never ever go back home. ‘We miss you’. He truly believed his parents never wanted to see him again. But he can feel his father’s emotions and knows how mistaken he was.

_Don’t give in! Don’t listen to him! You have been trained to deal with this. This is just a test – a trap! He lulls you in with his pretty words, but in the end, he’ll desert you like he always deserted you. You’re no longer eight, damn it!_

“I’m being torn apart,” he says, voicing it for the first time ever and feeling strangely relieved. “I want to be free of this pain.”

_You will be. This is it. Kill him now and rid yourself of the pain forever!_

“And I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”

_You do have it, you are my grandson, you are more powerful than you dare dreaming! Kill this traitor, kill him, kill him!!!_

“Will you help me?”

_If you really can’t kill him, walk away now. There’ll be another day, another chance._

His father takes the final step towards him. “Yes! Anything!”

Despite the internal screams of protest in his head, Kylo drops his helmet and takes his lightsabre, gives it one last look, then proffers it to his father in supplication. It’s over. They will go home.

In the second that Han takes the hilt, the light fades out, reminding his son that in only a few minutes, the First Order will have blown up D’Qar and with it his mother. There will be no home to go back to. It _is_ over. Just not the way it ought to have been.

_Yes, it’s over, it’s well and truly over. Now be a man and show the old guy some mercy. He’s got nothing to go back to either, and unlike you, he has only a past, not a future._

Han pulls the sword but Kylo doesn’t let go, once more torn. It is no use. He can’t fight this. There may be light, but it has no power over the darkness. And once both his parents are dead, perhaps the pull won’t hurt as much.

_Exactly! Kill him and be free! Do it! DO IT!_

He ignites the blade and stabs his father through the chest without resistance. Han has not reckoned with this (neither has Kylo, if he’s quite honest with himself) and looks shocked. Kylo is both frozen, and engulfed by a swift surge of energy running through his veins, a triumphant jubilation that is much at odds with everything else and feels bizarre, even alien. He pushes the blade deeper until the handle crushes against the ribs.

“Thank you,” he gasps and truly means it. His father has given his life for his son to be free. He removes the blade. Han staggers, uses his last breath to reach out and touch his son’s cheek. This is the worst part yet. His touch is warm, soft, forgiving, and forgiveness and love are in his eyes and in his heart, which Kylo can feel as clearly as he can see the dying man.

Han’s heart stops and he keels over the gangplank, leaving his son floored. The onslaught of emotions is so strong, he can barely keep himself on his feet. Fury, regret, remorse, loathing, disbelief and utter confusion and over all, an unanswerable feeling of loss wash over him like a gigantic wave and threaten to push him over as well and follow his father down into the pit.

x X x

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story so far, I'd be very happy if you left a review. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

**5\. Darkest (K)night**

_I beat my machine it’s a part of me it’s inside of me I’m stuck in this dream it’s changing me I am becoming The me that you know he had some second thoughts He’s covered with scabs and he is broken and sore The me that you know doesn’t come around much That part of me isn’t here anymore All pain disappears it’s the nature of my circuitry Drowns out all I hear there’s no escape from this my new consciousness That me that you know used to have feelings But the blood has stopped pumping and he’s left to decay The me that you know is now made up of wires And even when I’m right with you I’m so far away I can try to get away but I’ve strapped myself in I can try to scratch away the sound in my ears I can see it killing away all my bad parts I don’t want to listen but it’s all too clear Hiding backwards inside of me I feel so unafraid Annie, hold a little tighter I might just slip away It won’t give up it wants me dead Goddamn this noise inside my head_

Nine Inch Nails – _The Becoming_

* * *

x X x

**5.1. To Be or Not to Be:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 22:00 GST

_Die my dear Doctor? That’s the last thing I shall do!_

Henry John Temple, 3rd Viscount Palmerston – Last Words

Instead of the empowerment he was promised, Kylo feels nothing but devastation. It’s as if some part, and a vital part come to that, had been ripped out of him, time stops, so does his pulse, he can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear.

_Don’t you collapse now when the worst is over._

But it’s not over, it is only just beginning, he knows it. This will haunt him _forever_. Then, a ripple in the Force which he scarcely notices until suddenly the bowcaster bolt hits his side, accompanied by a familiar yell. Chewie – avenging his best friend – well, that’s appropriate...

The impact would have tossed him over the edge if he hadn’t instinctively clung to the Force, but it makes him double over and fall to his knees. It also kicks him back into the here and now, which has all of a sudden turned into a war zone. There are shots and explosions, screaming Stormtroopers, Chewbacca’s incensed barks, the entire structure is shaking – and in this moment, Kylo finally understands. Han’s mission, the thermal detonators, the damned X-wings. They could bomb this place all day long without avail, or they could try to explode it from the inside with similarly little success – but it cannot withstand both attacks at the same time. Which just goes to show that no matter how fool-proof you think your plans are, there’s always someone who will find that one small flaw and make the most of it… If he’s killed, it’s somewhat satisfying to know that this monstrosity is brought down with him.

He looks up to see if he can spot Chewie for a final salute, but instead his gaze falls on the two people he least expected. There’s the deserter, FN-2187, and beside him is the girl. He can’t say whose presence he resents more in this moment of utter failure. But with the anger, his pulse gets a real push, too. He will _not_ lie down here to die.

Well, dying may be inevitable after being hit by a bowcaster bolt, but not here, not like this. He’ll bring down that darned deserter before it’s over, and if it’s the last thing he does.

x X x

_**5.2. Polar Opposites:** aboard the _Supremacy _, ABY 27/06/10_

_Makes me sick when I hear all the shit that you say_   
_So much crap coming out, it must take you all day_   
_When you look at yourself do you see what I see?_   
_If you do, why the fuck are you looking at me?_

Archive – Fuck U

Kylo Ren was no stranger to military operations; both his parents had once been generals after all. He’d never dreamt of anything like the First Order though. The Republic’s forces seemed an almost ragtag bunch of pacifists compared to _this_ lot. Everything was in order, everything was organised down to the last tiny details, even the officers’ hair seemed made out of plastic – no matter what, not a single lock was ever out of place.

There were two types of them. Wizened veterans of the actual Empire who had somehow survived its downfall and were deadly annoyed by the second kind – men and women, exclusively human, not much older (sometimes younger) than Kylo himself, self-assured to the point of smugness with that certain gleam of unwavering determination in their steely eyes. Unrivalled among them was one Major Armitage Hux, the only – if illegitimate – child of General Brendol Hux, hero and legend of the First Order (and bogeyman of the Republic). The son struck Kylo as even worse though than he had ever imagined the old man. Everything about this guy was slick and textbook-orderly, his teal uniform looked like fashion and contrasted his copper hair as if he dyed it that shade only for this effect, his voice was controlled and snappy, he held himself as if the iron poker in his butt reached up to his head, a head entrenched in its own grandiosity and glorious purpose. Kylo _loathed_ the man, if he could be called a man – how old was he? Twenty-five? Twenty-seven, tops. Hux had once been in charge of training the younger generation of officers, which went a long way to explain why they all seemed so much like him, and had only recently been promoted to become a major, which must have added to that unbelievable swagger he managed to project.

Incidentally, Major Hux returned Kylo Ren’s instant dislike with interest. In his time, he had seen any number of pretentious little upstarts giving themselves airs, but this kid really took the cake. Upon arriving at their base and brashly demanding to see ‘Snoke’ – note: _not_ ‘the Supreme Leader’, _not_ ‘Admiral Snoke’, just ‘Snoke’ as if the two of them were old chums! – he had looked like all recent arrivals after ten weeks travelling through the Unknown Regions. Scruffy, emaciated, worn-out. That was alright. Most decidedly _not alright_ was that he had merely taken a shower and laundered his clothes, downright refusing to put on a uniform, or get a decent haircut, or even put his stuff in order. If any of the Stormtroopers were seen outside of battle with their helmets scratched and dented like Ren’s, if any officer arrogated to walk around in a tunic stitched up so unseemly or their hair in such unkempt disarray, Hux would personally have condemned them to privy-cleaning for the next _decade_. And that idiotic cape and cowl combo! It was all Hux could do to stop himself from stepping onto the rim and make that prat topple over. If Ren’s worst sins though had been his ridiculous fashion sense and attitude problems, the major would have been happy enough to ignore him. But to add insult to injury, the Supreme Leader openly favoured that pathetic youth! He was granted access to even the most secure areas (Hux had served for ten years until getting the same security clearance!) including unlimited visitation rights with the Supreme Leader; he had been given a custom-built starfighter and permission to command a TIE-fighter squadron and Hux himself had been ordered to show him around and explain the First Order’s inner workings, and had the kid brought as much as his datapad to take notes?! He sure as hell had not. As far as Hux could tell, he had scarcely listened, and the only time he clearly had, it had been to ask impertinent questions about the sources of energy needed to power the superweapon currently under construction.

“What do you mean – _drain a star?_ ” he had asked, and even with his voice distorted through that voice changer, it had been obvious that the ignorant boy _disapproved_.

And disapprove he did. One of the few constants in his life for as long as he could think back was Kylo’s appreciation, _admiration_ , for the sacred beauty and integrity of the cosmos. You couldn’t just destroy a star – in order to destroy another star! Well, apparently you _could_ , but you _mustn’t!_ The mere idea to look up one night at the stars – only to find two of them gone because some moron in a uniform had destroyed them for the sheer sake of it!

He had even tried to talk to Snoke about this, which had slightly soothed his concerns. Starkiller Base (note the name, do!) was supposed to serve as a _deterrent_. No one would dare to oppose the First Order knowing they _could_ snuff out a planet like a candle. Of course not. It was basically like a Death Star – and the nagging thought in the back of Kylo’s head that reminded him of the fate of his mother’s homeworld Alderaan was drowned out by another, much louder and more decisive voice scolding him not to be so bloody sentimental.

x X x

**5.3. On the Edge of the Precipice, Part Two:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 22:16 GST

_Come closer and see_   
_See into the trees_   
_Find the girl_   
_While you can_   
_Come closer and see_   
_See into the dark_   
_Just follow your eyes_   
_I hear her voice_   
_And start to run_   
_Into the trees_   
_Suddenly I stop_   
_But I know it’s too late_   
_I’m lost in a forest_   
_All alone_

The Cure – A Forest

He saw through which exit those two vanished, and he knows where the _Millennium Falcon_ landed. The rest is simple triangulation and willpower as he hastens to apprehend them. The cold is excruciating, now that the sun is dead, but it does counterpoint the pain, and the surge of oxygen after the stuffy oscillator shaft is anodyne as well.

And there they are, he can feel her before hearing them before seeing them at last, and igniting his sword, takes a fighting stance.

“We’re not done yet,” he snarls at the young man. He’s never seen him without his mask, yet he knows for a fact this is FN-2187, who, when you think about it, is at the root of this entire disaster.

It’s not he though who answers, but the girl. “You’re a monster!” she cries, her boiling fury catching him somewhat off-guard. What’s _her_ problem, now? He’s been nothing but _nice_ to _her_! Oh, yes, now he remembers. She’s a member of the Han Solo fan club, its current president possibly.

“It’s just us now. Han Solo can’t save you.”

Just saying the name hurts, and to stay focused he boxes the wound in his stomach. The girl glares at him and starts raising her blaster rifle, so he pushes her back using the Force. Perhaps he ought to have toned down that instinctive reaction a bit, for she flies through the air and crashes against a tree, from which she slides, unconscious – but she’s alright, he can feel it. The deserter rushes to her side and coddles over her as if Kylo wasn’t even there.

“Traitor” he screams at him and slashes his blade.

The boy gets slowly up and produces a lightsabre of his own, and in this moment, the whole thing has gotten even more personal. Kylo _knows_ this blade. He _recognises_ it, even though he’s never seen it before in his life. It has its own Force field, one that calls out to him as its heir like a strong magnet.

“That lightsabre,” he says with forced calmness and points at it with the tip of his sword, as if there could be any argument about which lightsabre they’re talking. “It belongs to me.”

“Come get it,” the deserter retorts unbelievably, and even less believably, charges with a loud yell.

Kylo parries the strikes easily and almost happily. It feels good to fight with his sword once again; he hasn’t had any use for it in ages. Also, the boy is a reasonably competent swordsman, one of Phasma’s model soldiers probably. He toys with him for a moment, getting so cocky that the kid actually manages to land a blow, then he realises how silly this is and makes short work of him with his treasure of a blade landing in the snow.

He turns around to summon the lightsabre that is rightfully his; he ceremonially holds out his hand, focuses and – a little wriggle is all he can manage. Damn it, he must be more seriously wounded than he feels… So he tries again, and again, and again, but with much the same result. And then, suddenly, the hilt shoots up towards him, almost hitting him in the face, and flies right into the girl’s outstretched hand.

x X x

**5.4. Forceful:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 22:20 GST

_Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand,_   
_Blood and revenge are hammering in my head._

Aaron – Titus Andronicus

For reasons she could never ever explain to herself, she mimics Kylo Ren’s outstretched hand, almost hypnotised by the slightly wriggling lightsabre in the snow. Suddenly, it shoots up towards him – past him – towards her! She’s so startled, she barely manages to catch it.

They stare at each other for a long moment and she can tell he’s even more flabbergasted than she is.

“Give my sword back!”

“This is Luke Skywalker’s sword and I don’t think he’d want you to have it.”

“This is my grandfather’s sword and I _know_ he wants me to have it.”

“And still it came to me, not you,” she snarls and adopts a fighting stance. As soon as igniting the blade, a strange kind of energy runs through her, drowning out her fear of him.

He mirrors her movement with his own sword and she instantly attacks. He blocks her blows easily, but she can tell he’s rattled. This is quite similar to using her staff and every move increases her confidence. Unfortunately, so is his, he begins driving her backwards, and she can tell he’s not even fighting her in earnest yet. Around them, the forest is toppling, deep rifts tear up the grounds and no matter how hard she hits at him, he pushes her further and further towards one of those steep cliffs until she almost falls into one.

There blades are clashing, hers is more or less stuck between his and the crossguard; she dare not make any move because she’s so precariously balanced on the edge.

But instead of pushing her that one last step further, he snarls, “You need a teacher.”

What?

And then, even more incomprehensively, “I can show you the ways of the Force.”

What is he even talking about?

She stares at him, scared, confused, helpless, waiting for the final push, but he just keeps on blocking her from moving and returns her gaze very seriously.

_The Force._ Han Solo mentioned it when talking of Luke Skywalker and the Jedi. Maz Kanata mentioned it when trying to talk her into taking Luke Skywalker’s lightsabre. Rey herself thought of it when sweet-talking that Stormtrooper. And face it, it worked, and it worked even better when Kylo Ren tried to break into her head in order to get to BB-8. The Force.

Looks as if she’d got a bit of it in herself after all, doesn’t it? That sword chose _her_ , just like Maz Kanata said. And what is the Force most famous for? For fighting! She tries to remember how it felt when she accidentally tapped it in the interrogation room, and when she catches a scrap, she focuses on that faint remnant with all her might and wills all her strength into her next move.

Would you credit it, she does manage to push him away, if only Han Solo had given it a try, he might have managed to kick his ass down that shaft. The mere thought of Han Solo and his ignoble end gives her next move incredible power, so she concentrates really hard on that and actually drives him back. This time around, he’s no longer just toying with her, she sees him putting his last strength into his parades, yet she forces him back step by step, even makes him lose his footing. Her next blow hits his shoulder. She’s got him! He can barely stand upright, let alone stand up to her. Two more hits and a kick in the chest later, he’s lying in the snow. He gets up again, slowly, laboriously, and tries to keep her from finishing him off by snatching her wrist and forcing the blade away from him. For someone looking like death itself, he’s got surprisingly much strength in his grip still. But she hasn’t worked as a scavenger all her life for nothing. She may not look like it, but she can carry twice her own weight, she can wrench loose cranks that have rusted away for twenty-five years and she can certainly use the same trick on him, compelling his arm down, his blade to sizzle in the snow. His grip on her wrist loosens and with one fast move of her own lightsabre, she knocks his away and cuts him up. He falls backwards into the snow. He won’t get up another time, so much is obvious.

_You’ve got him! Go for it! Kill him!_

She raises her blade and snarls at him. He is profusely bleeding, looking up at her in utter amazement. She’d say he’s astonished to be beaten by a lowly scavenger, but for some reason she can tell that’s not the case. This is, strange as it may be, _admiration_ , and a good deal of relief mixed in. Only then she understands that she’ll be doing him a favour if she kills him now.

_Even better! Kill him!_

Oh no, she’s got just enough spite in herself not to relieve the murderer of Han Solo of his burden.

_He’s a goner anyway. Kill him. Do it!_

Uh-uh. No. He’s down, defenceless. She won’t kill a defenceless man.

_Kill him! Avenge your hero Han Solo!_

The ground breaks up and a deep gorge is opening up between them, making any further contemplation whether to kill him or not futile.

x X x

_**5.5. The Spider:** aboard the _Supremacy _, ABY 27/05/06_

_I will teach you your destiny._

Virgil – Æneid

It is a well-established fact that arachnids can survive in space, can spin their webs and wait for their prey for years and years, just like they would when planetbound. Some even thrive there. The weightlessness is becoming to those, rendering their cobs even more ethereal, less ephemeral. I feel a deep kinship to these beings.

Like them, I have cast my net, waited my time in patience. And now, at last, the juiciest fly of them all has finally flown into my lair like I’ve always known it would; I will spread my venom, spin a lovely cocoon of lies and deceit around the poor unsuspecting thing and devour it at my leisure.

The boy – he’s scarcely more than a boy, all the more in the eyes of someone my age – was piously kneeling before him, head bowed, eyes glued to the floor, waiting for his master’s order. (Which makes him appear more like a sheep, or a little dog, perhaps? Yes, yes, a little dog. Oh, I’ll teach him how to bite! Is it a coincidence that ‘terrier’ has the same root as ‘terror’?) I watch him in silence and satisfaction, just like I’ve watched him from afar for twenty years. This child will be my masterpiece.

“Tell me of your education, my boy.”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. The boy hasn’t caught a single breath in life that I hadn’t surveyed and assessed for its usefulness. But talking will distract him and allow me to examine him even more closely.

It wouldn’t need a Force-user of my magnitude for that; half of them can be read in the boy’s face, his eloquent eyes, so passionate, so disillusioned, so very, very _needy_. The darkness inside him is blacker than the unfathomable depths of space itself, the light shines brighter than a million suns and all the more dazzling for the contrast. As of now, there are still a lot of grey areas, but I’ll untangle those soon enough. And then…

x X x

**5.6. Find Him, Part One:** on Starkiller Base, ABY 30/06/01, 22:21 GST

_How are the mighty fallen!_

II Samuel. I. 25.

‘Bring Kylo Ren to me. It’s time to complete his training.’

Hux clenched his fists and sighed. Swiftly he had contemplated his chances of getting away with pretending not to have found Ren but dismissed the idea almost at once. He wouldn’t be able to pull it off this way. Snoke wouldn’t stand for it.

Ren was the Supreme Leader’s favourite pet, no matter how stupid he acted or how often he destroyed whichever room he happened to be in. In a manner of speaking, the general understood this unreasonable indulgence – he’d once owned a loth-cat called Millicent. She had scratched him as much as the furniture and micturated wherever she had damned well pleased, but Hux had forgiven her all her indiscretions regardless.

What was more – it was _impossible_ not to find the silly twit, because a long time ago the Supreme Leader had secretly equipped him with a tracking device in his belt buckle (again, the similarity to Millicent! She’d got one of those in her collar).

“General, we’ve located him.”

Hux sighed once more, straightened his uniform and prepared to dismount. The ground was shaking under his feet; already great chasms were gaping, entire forests were toppling under the tremors of the collapsing planet.

“I’ll never forgive the little jerk if I get myself killed during his rescue mission,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

In this moment, he spotted his target dragging himself through the snow towards the ship. He could barely hold himself upright. Behind him, the snow was blood-red. Little wonder, Hux thought, seeing a large gash crossing the entire right side of Ren’s visage. What the hell had he been doing?! Had he picked a fight with a Saffizi-bear?!

Two Stormtroopers dashed forth with a stretcher, but Ren barked at them to leave him alone.

“Don’t be an idiot and get on there,” Hux yelled back at him. “This is not the time to play the damned hero, the entire planet’s exploding!”

Ren appeared to notice him only now and gave him a blazing glare. “Well, flee then, if you’re so afraid!”

As if to underline the point – though it was unclear whose – the ground underneath trembled dangerously and threw off Ren’s fragile balance. He fell only to push himself up again and continue his tortuous way as he had before, with the two Stormtroopers hovering in his vicinity, unsure what to do. Hux rolled his eyes to the skies above them, wondering what he had done to deserve this.

They made it to the transporter just minutes before the whole area caved in. But at least Ren allowed Sergeant Cinaw to inspect his injuries and remained calm even when Cinaw clearly panicked. Apparently, the face wound was his smallest problem. Hux had a strong stomach, but once the medics cut away Ren’s tunic and armour, he felt a heavy bout of nausea. Make that a pack of Saffizi-bears! A fist-sized hole was gaping in the left side of Ren’s abdomen; his right was cut up from the collarbone down to his hip with – _stuff_ – coming out. The general recognised intestines when he saw them, even if he was a little vague on the other protruding organs. Was this a piece of the man’s lungs?!

Finally someone had the good sense to insert a syringe into Ren’s arm and put him out, so he could be put onto a stretcher after all and taken to the ship’s infirmary.

How would the Supreme Leader take it if Ren died on the operating table? Not at all well, presumably.

“I don’t care what it takes, keep him alive at all costs!” he yelled after the disappearing medics.

Sergeant Cinaw looked over his shoulder, “With all due respect, sir, we’re not in the miracle business! There’s hardly a drop of blood left in him.”

“Just remember that if he dies, you will accompany me to inform the Supreme Leader, Sergeant!”

And thus, another miracle was performed that night.

x X x

**5.7. BREAKING NEWS: HOPE LOOMS LARGE**

HoloVid Transmission, ABY 30/06/02, 01:00 GST

_No fairer law in all the land_   
_Than that death-dealers die by what they’ve planned._

Ovid – Ars Amatoria

“Good morning – and it _is_ a good morning compared to what anybody dared to hope when going to bed last night. Several sources have by now confirmed that at 22:36 GST last night, the planet that had become infamous only yesterday morning as either Starkiller Base or Death Star III has collapsed and exploded after a massive bombardment from the Resistance. There are rumours that General Han Solo, famous veteran of the Wars to Restore the Republic and husband of Resistance leader General Leia Organa Solo, has given his life for the cause, along at least twenty other pilots, but so far, neither of these casualties have officially been corroborated.

As reported, the gigantic planet-sized base of the so-called First Order attacked and destroyed the entire Hosnian system only yesterday morning. The estimated death toll of this unprecedented assault ranges between sixteen and twenty-one billion. The Senate was in session with an attendance rate of 87% when it happened, and approximately 90% of the Republican Navy were eliminated. I’m sure I speak for everyone when saying that our mourning knows no bounds.

It may be cold comfort for the survivors to hear that the Resistance’s swift and resolute intervention has spared countless other star systems a similar fate, all the more because the First Order’s fleet seems to have escaped the inferno.

For now, back to the studio, Talulah.”

x X x

_**5.8. His Last Home:** aboard the _Guardian II _, ABY 27/03/15_

_There’s no such thing as chance;_   
_And what to us seems merest accident_   
_Springs from the deepest source of destiny._

Friedrich Schiller – Wallenstein

When he had come across the map detailing the way to the first Jedi temple (and thus, in pleasing symmetry, to Luke Skywalker, the very last of the Jedi), Lor had known it’d be his death sentence. He’d been seventy-two by then, so he had accepted his ordained fate without giving it a second thought, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t taken as many precautions as he could. For a start, he had never taken even one look at the thing, and had strictly forbidden any of his followers to take a peek either. Powerful Sith had means to extract such knowledge. Yes, it was said that the Sith were all gone, but at his age, one tended to believe what one had believed in one’s whole life, and not rely on the opinions of others.

He had contemplated passing the map on to the Princess (another habit he couldn’t get rid of – let others call her Senator Solo, or General Organa, to him she’d always remain King Bail IV. of Alderaan’s young daughter, the brave and beautiful Princess Leia of Alderaan). But he had met her some years ago and she had made it very clear that her brother was dead to her. Back then, there had been no need yet to bring back Luke Skywalker, or give the Princess offence by foisting on her what she wanted to ignore. Lor hadn’t had the wisdom then to see that fate wasn’t to be denied.

In the meantime, the First Order had risen from the darkness of the Unknown Regions. A ghostly claw had once again reached out for the galaxy to crush it – and Lor was holding, in _his_ small hand, the only hope they had to fight back. He had to protect it by any means.

This was the reason why he had left his comfortable home at the ripe old age of seventy-five, and since then moved from planet to planet. The First Order was looking for him; to know as much, he didn’t need the hints and warnings from the many sympathisers and worshippers that the Church of the Force still had all over the galaxy. It pained him to think what a wake of destruction he was inevitably leaving behind every time he moved on. That was why he always chose locations as remote as possible.

They were on the way to Codia when a distant yellow dot suddenly caught his attention. He couldn’t describe the feeling this sight caused in him, but by its very oddity, he was convinced not to dismiss it.

“Brother Miipas, what is that star over there?”

Miipas followed the direction of his outstretched finger. “I believe that’s not a star, oh venerable one. If I’m not mistaken, that’s the planet Jakku.”

So far, if he were perfectly honest, Lor hadn’t known that planet even existed, and soon after landing he thought he knew why it wasn’t more popular. Between the sandstorms, the intolerable heat, the extreme cold at night, the shortage of water, the improbably rich insect world, the daggerworms and the occasional Mosrk'tecks, neither Tuanul nor Jakku in general should have appealed to his palate. Yet he knew with absolute certainty that this was going to be his new home. Even more, he knew that this would be his last home, too. He was going to die on Jakku, he felt it in his bones.

But death was inevitable; mourn not those who become one with the Force! And the desert seemed a better place than most for that.

x X x

**5.9. Find Him, Part Two:** in the Resistance Headquarters on the planet D’Qar, ABY 30/06/02, 01:00 GST

_We have scotch’d the snake, not killed it._

Macbeth

It’s almost like a dream, as well as a nightmare. Somewhere between co-piloting the famous _Millennium Falcon_ next to Chewbacca, and trying to process the fact that Han Solo is dead, killed by his own freaking son, and landing on D’Qar, which turns out yet another lovely green planet, on an actual Resistance Base, and fearing for poor Finn’s life, and meeting the woman that toppled the Empire (‘Leia, call me Leia’; even on Jakku they’ve heard of _her_ before!) and being embraced by her like a long-lost mother, Rey feels all but lost in her own imagination. Some parts of her are giddy with excitement and curiosity, while the rest is in mourning.

Her grief is little compared to Leia’s though, even though the old woman is much better in walling it up. All the time people approach her with this and that, she listens to everyone attentively, gives out orders, competently coordinates what is happening next, and only if you observe her closely (which Rey does whenever she’s around, completely awed), you notice the simmering despair in her dark, soulful eyes. Her son has murdered her husband, how’s that for personal tragedy? Yet all she talks about is the ‘devastating loss of the Hosnian system’ and the Republican fleet.

In the infirmary, where Finn is treated, Rey overhears people curse the Republican fleet. “It’s not like they ever were of much help to us,” one nurse gnarls as she’s patching up a woman in a grey overall with a terrible cut on her right hand.

“Be fair, Ilona. They couldn’t. They were under orders from the Senate –”

“Under orders, under orders! I’m sick of hearing this. _Under orders!_ So’s a Stormtrooper! And even those manage to think for themselves now and then. Have you heard of the one who sprang Poe from the _Finalizer_?”

“Gosh, I’m stationed in repairs, not under a stone, Ilona! Of course I’ve heard of him, people talk of scarcely anything else!”

“That’s him, over there.” The nurse beckons into Finn’s direction and shoots a swift smile at Rey before returning to focus on her patient. “Poor mite. Got cut up by _Kylo Ren_.”

“Oh shoot. Poor Leia!”

“I think she’s got worse to handle,” Ilona says darkly. “Anyway, that one will make it. Doctor Kalonia thinks there’s even a chance he may walk again.”

Between that info, and the warm praise for poor, brave Finn, and the other two women’s friendly acknowledgement of her, Rey’s heart soars to the skies, and she dares to vacate the bedside for a while in order to sneak back to Leia, who asked her to ‘come and see me tonight’.

“There you are, Rey,” she greets her as soon as Rey’s entered the room, even though her back is turned. “How is your friend?”

“Better and better.”

“That is good news. Listen, I meant to talk to you. Our techs are going over the _Falcon_ as we speak, they fathom she’s ready by noon. I won’t lie and claim she’ll be as good as new – that ship ran off the manufacturing belt as a heap of junk. Chewie tells me you can fly her.”

“Uh – yeah. Yeah, I can,” Rey replies, astonished at her own confidence. She may have learnt flying in a rusty simulator on a tanked star destroyer, but recent experience shows she can pilot the _Falcon_ , doesn’t it?

“Excellent. Because we need you and Chewie to go and find Luke. We’ve analysed the star charts and think we’ve got a fairly good idea where he is.”

Rey is stumped. “Me? But I… Why me?”

“Because you can fly the _Falcon_ , because you’re good with the Force, and frankly, because I cannot spare any of our soldiers for a voyage to the Unknown Regions that is going to take _days_. All-out war is imminent.”

“I can fight!”

“Yes, I know, and you will. But you’ve got special talents that are of more use to our cause when you go and find Luke, bring him back and let him train you properly.”

“Train me,” Rey echoes, more gobsmacked by the minute.

Leia gives her a big smile. “Yes, train you. To become a Jedi knight.”

“What?!”

“Blimey, I didn’t even ask you yet, did I? I keep doing that, I just presume… Anyway – don’t you want to be a Jedi?”

“I – I haven’t given it much thought – _any_ thought, to be honest…”

“I’m sorry. I always automatically assume that any kid good with the Force must dream to become a Jedi. We might not be in this whole mess if I’d realised that fallacy twenty years earlier.”

“But General – I mean Leia… I – I don’t think I _can_. I mean… It’s nice of you to say I was good with the Force, but honestly, I’m not at all sure I am.”

“You beat m--- You beat Kylo Ren,” Leia retorts, pronouncing the name with obvious distaste.

“Not really! Most of the time he chased me all over the place; I may have landed a good strike or two, but – he was heavily injured, bleeding all over the place in fact. I don’t think I’d have stood any chance at all if he hadn’t been wounded so badly.”

Leia may not like to speak her son’s new name, but hearing of his injuries clearly pains her. But before Rey can apologise, the older woman opens her eyes again and puts on a deliberately brave face.

“Next to Snoke, and Luke, hopefully, there is no one in the galaxy remotely as powerful with the Force as he. To stand your ground against him for any time at all proves beyond reasonable doubt that you do have it. Come on, you must have felt it before.”

“No, I really didn’t,” Rey replies unhappily. Oh, she’d _love_ to be so special, she really would. What is more, she’d do anything to comfort that brave, pitiful woman in her despair, but telling a lie won’t make it any better, will it?

“Remarkable.” Leia shakes her head. “Be that as it may, I don’t mean to talk you into doing something you don’t want to do. What I will ask you though is to go with Chewie and bring my brother back. Will you do that?”

“Of course! I mean, I will try.”

“Great. Tell him we’ve never needed him more than we do now. Tell him I’m… No. Just tell him the galaxy _needs_ him.”

x X x


End file.
